Stitches
by xxfatal
Summary: Chiaki x Makoto. I'll run to you, she said. Only, she didn't know how.
1. Graphite

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time._ No, not even a copy.

**Stitches**

x_: one_

**Graphite**

Makoto rolled across the bedspread, head lolling off the edge. He was leaning over his homework; maybe it would best not to interrupt, she thought. No, she set her mouth in a grimace, she wanted to tell someone—especially him.

"Kousuke."

"Yeah?" he replied, brow furrowing at the equations scribbled in graphite.

"I made him disappear."

Kousuke looked up, eyeing her with confusion. "What?" he responded slowly. "Who?"

She couldn't look him in the eye anymore, so she stared up at his stucco ceiling. "Chiaki," she said.

There was a long quiet. She could feel him staring at her.

"Why?" It came out sounding unhurried. But she knew he wanted to know.

"I played with the time we had." She closed her eyes guiltily. "Sorry, Kousuke. Chiaki was our best friend."

Kousuke gazed down at her critically. Finally, he murmured, "Chiaki was _my_ best friend, Makoto." When she didn't open her eyes, he turned away, back to his work. He knew she wouldn't talk about this again.

"Yeah," Makoto agreed in a whisper. A small crystal beaded from her eye and fell with gravity.

* * *

**A/N:** I actually wrote these many months ago, last year. But when I first felt like posting them, I couldn't find the category for _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time_, so I just left a scrap in my journal, and the rest in my computer. Lately, though I should be really focusing on my studies, I've started up reading again, and I really missed writing. So, when I came across this little series in my computer, I thought, "Why not post it?"

I didn't put a _fin_ or a _tbc_ at the end for a reason. It will be up to you to decide whether they are separate drabbles or a connected story. Also, before I forget, please give me a shout-out if you do happen to read this. I'm eager to meet some other fans of this movie, since the fanbase is so scarce. Lastly, I hope you have a pleasant day. And thanks for putting up with the absurdly long author's note.


	2. Blue Red Paint

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time._ If I did, I would have done _things_.

x: _two_

**Blue Red Paint**

Makoto swiped her nose, incidentally getting a smear of pretty, blue paint on it.

"How are you doing, Makoto?"

Makoto pulled her eyes away from the colored canvas, and flashed her aunt a lopsided smile. "It's coming along great, Auntie," she supplied. "Thanks."

"Good." Majo sat down to watch her niece reinvigorate a corner of the old masterpiece. The sun was setting through the curtained windows, casting a soft, even glow on the girl's unkissed cheeks. Makoto was a pretty picture.

"Makoto?" she voiced quietly, so as to not disrupt her niece's evasive concentration.

". . . Yeah?"

"Nevermind," came the reply. A pause, then: "It's getting late. Do you want to come have dinner with me?"

"Ummm . . ." Makoto dabbed a light dot of apple red on the expanse in front of her before setting the brush down carefully. She smiled in satisfaction, pulling off her gloves. "Okay, let's have dinner. This can wait until tomorrow."

As they headed out the door, Majo decided not to ask about the small sighs that had escaped whilst Makoto were painting.

* * *

**A/N: **This was a scrap of a scrap, really. It was on the verge of going in the recycle, but, heck, there's so little of this out there. If you left a review, thank you ever so much. I'm glad that I'm not the only one who adores this movie. I'm actually quite shocked. Is this one the only story in this category? _But it needs more fanfic._ So, I encourage more fanfic to be written for this movie. Anyone?


	3. Seven

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time._ And wishful thinking gets you nowhere, except a pleasant feeling in your stomach.

x: _three_

**Seven**

Makoto flipped on the lights, rubbing her crusty eyes sleepily. This job did not pay her enough to get up this early in the morning, honestly. As her eyes adjusted the rows of glass and priceless artifacts, she was alerted to the presence of an intruder standing silently in the middle of the hall.

"Excuse me," she addressed him groggily, "you're not allowed back here during these hours. The museum opens in two hours; please come back then." She wished she were wearing pants or something; she didn't feel quite as intimidating in a patterned skirt that only went to her knees.

"Excuse me," she cried louder, beginning to approach him, when he appeared to have not heard her. "Sir--"

"Sorry," he said in a voice that stopped her in her tracks. Her eyes froze on him like those of a stunned deer, her fingers hanging slightly in mid-air. He smiled lopsidedly at her. "Hi, Makoto."

"Chiaki . . ." she breathed into the still air. "What are you doing here?" She sounded angry—hurt, maybe. He looked away from her—she regretted it; she still wanted his eyes on her—and back at the painting tucked safely behind the glass. "That's your painting, isn't it, Makoto?"

"No," she answered stonily.

He glanced at her from the corner of his ginger-ale eyes, an apologetic appraisal. "In the future, I saw this painting again. You restored it; I read it in the books."

She lowered her eyes, a faint flush dusting her cheeks at being caught in a concrete lie. "Yeah, well, I had nothing better to do." When she raised her eyes again, he was standing far too close to her. She took a step back, uncomfortable.

"How long has it been, Makoto?" he questioned wonderingly.

"Seven years," she replied without hesitation.

Pupils dilated in disbelief.

"What?" she challenged. "How long did you think?"

A guilty expression swept across his face.

"What, has it only been months for you?" she vocalized incredulously.

"Two years," he corrected.

"I see." She ran a hand nervously through her short hair. She never grew it out. "Chiaki . . ." She didn't want to ask this question; she was so afraid of the answer. "How long are you staying this time?"

He shuffled down and out of the hallway. "Let's get some coffee, Makoto."

Her eyes trailed after him, and soon enough, so did her traitorous feet. "Alright," she said to his retreating back. Maybe it was better not knowing.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm really blown back by the sheer amount of support I've been getting for this. Thank you all so, so much. I really appreciate the sweet comments. In fact, motivated by just that, I've added a few more drabbles into the series (on my computer). Probably won't make chronological sense anymore, though. Then again, when did time ever make sense? So, we'll see. Can't thank you all enough. Really.


	4. Fumbling

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time._ But who knows? Maybe in the next life. ;]

x: _four_

**Fumbling**

"So, what do you do now?" Chiaki asked casually, watching her over his mug of sweet, steaming coffee.

"I work at the museum." She shrugged, trying to not give away too much of herself.

He was quiet. They both knew why she worked there. It was so that one day she might see him again. And today was that one day, and they were wasting it like this. He probably didn't think of her that way anymore.

"Umm, how's . . ." She wanted to ask about the future, about whether he was happy without her, whether he had a girlfriend, why he came, if he was going to just leave without a real goodbye this time. ". . . everything?" she finished lamely.

"Good." It sounded bland at best, but Makoto could tell it was the truth.

"What's Kousuke up to?"

"Ehh, he got married a couple of months ago."

Chiaki raised his autumnal eyebrows in surprise. "To?"

"You wouldn't know her. She's a riot, though. Surprising, huh?" Makoto flashed him a grin. He didn't realize, up until that moment, just how much he missed it. After a brief pause, Makoto appeared to recall something. She almost touched him. "Let me see your arm."

Chiaki smirked, something he couldn't refrain from doing in her familiar presence, and obediently held out his arm. It felt like a secret.

"Two," she read. Her eyes sought his, questioning. He pulled his wrist away from beneath her ginger fingers.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Do you have a girlfriend?" Makoto issued back in a single breath, succinctly, eyes guarded.

He averted his gaze, bottom lip stuck out petulantly. Somehow, the expression seemed familiar. It made her chest go into seizures.

"Do you want to out with me, Makoto?"

* * *

**A/N:** . . . I'm unwholesomely obsessed. I've written an additional one dozen drabbles in one day. Not all of them are short drabbles, either. This might be a problem. Be warned, this and the next drabble aren't exactly my favorites. I hope you'll stick with me to the end, but that may be asking too much. Have a pleasant day, if you please. :)


	5. Stop

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time_. In fact, I'm _still_ waiting on that DVD.

x: _five_

**Stop**

"Stop," came tumbling out of her lips automatically. It was too soon, too fast, too _much_. Her brain had heard all of this before. She was smarter this time. She wouldn't let him shut her down. She'd do it first.

"What?" uttered Chiaki, looking confounded, looking dismayed.

"I should be at work," she exclaimed, standing abruptly. Her eyes darted to her hands. They were much too close to his own. She threw her appendages off the table.

His face struggled to mask his disappointment. "Makoto, can I--"

A flicker of recognition ignited in her face. She hesitated.

"Can you tell me something, Chiaki?" she interjected, in the same rushed cadence he knew was hers alone. He saw the way the muscles in her legs contracted, saw her hopes dangled on one last thread. If he answered wrong, he'd lose her. She'd run. She'd run in the opposite direction; and she'd never come back.

He tensed. She asked the hardest questions.

"How long are you staying this time?" She stared determinedly at the window behind him.

His thumb twitched. He wanted to touch her face.

". . . Chiaki?" He said nothing. She understood. Understood. "I'm leaving."

"Makoto." His hand on her wrist. "It depends." There it was. Nothing else. Not good enough.

"Okay, that's fine," she spouted. "I wasn't expecting anything. Sorry, Chiaki, I have work--"

"How long do you want me to stay, Makoto?"

_Forever,_ she thought. But forever was a foolish thought.

"A long time," she said before her mouth could stop her. _Gone, gone, should leave._

"Makoto, will you go out with me?" he asked, clearly not looking at her. Nervously glanced her way, then not. Stammered at the words, then tumbled them out. "Will you go out with me for a long time, then?"

"Buy me teppanyaki."

Did she mean no? Pretend as if it never happened? Was she, maybe, brushing him off? He kept his face neutral. He didn't expect anything less. She was justified. Let her go. Hurt like--

"I'll eat teppanyaki every day until I'm fat."

His lips parted in confusion, giving way to a muddled expression. "What do you--"

"Just say yes," she said.

"Yes," he replied, suddenly lighting up, "I'll buy you a lot, Makoto."

She was too good.

* * *

**A/N:** Alright, I lied. It is up to you to decide whether these drabbles are unrelated or connected, _except this one_. Though if you're very open-minded, I'm pretty sure this could seem separate, but it'd probably be better to have read the one before this one before reading this one. To be honest, I had a really hard time constructing this one. I am still dissatisfied with the result, actually. I'm not too good at this writing-thing, you see.

So far, I've been posting pieces that would have occurred after the movie, but from here on out, I'll be posting in the order that I write them: stream-of-consciousness-style. So I just wanted to alert you that from now on, the pieces may involve a universe before the movie, during the movie, or after it; depends. (Would anyone want me to indicate it?) Although this would confuse even myself for any other fandom, I think that this particular movie, especially, is time-pliable. If ever questions pop up, go ahead and ask, and I'll try to answer them to the best of my ability.

My biggest apologies for the superbly lengthy author's note! I want to thank you all again for the support. I'll give it my best shot.


	6. Language of Like

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time._ If I did, the movie would be nothing but fanservice. That wouldn't be so bad, would it?

x: _six_

**Language of Like**

"Hey, Chiaki."

He glanced over, pulling the book bag over his head. "Yeah?"

"Why do you suck at languages?"

His eyes darted away as swiftly as they came. "Why do you want to know?"

"Not me," articulated Makoto evenly, "a friend."

"Your friend like me or something?" he inquired. She knew him long enough to distinguish the peculiar smugness in his voice.

"Probably not. Just curious." She threw a leg over the bicycle, waiting for him to get seated on his own. "Guess I'm wondering, too, a little, maybe."

His gaze returned wholly back to her. "Yeah?" She thought he seemed more inclined to talk now; she nodded. He scratched his lip pliantly. "I jump from place to place a lot, I guess. Gets hard to learn all the languages, you know?" He shrugged. "Where I come from, there's a different language, too."

"What's it called?"

"You wouldn't know it."

"Probably not." Makoto set her left foot on the pedal, and pressed down. She squeaked forward and threw a glance back at him.

"Why'd you want to know?"

She grinned whimsically, setting her eyes back on the road and the titanic, white clouds above them. "Just 'cause you suck extraordinarily at them."

* * *

**A/N:** As you can see, no longer makes chronological sense. As of now, I have so many pieces written for this movie that, even if I kept up my inane Spring-Break-Pace of posting one every single day, it would take me more than month to post them all. Of course, Spring-Break-Pace is impossible in the long-run, seeing as I will be disappearing from Friday to Sunday, and once school resumes, it will be near impossible for me get a break. In any case, thank you so much for reading, and I hope the day goes well for you.


	7. Dreamer

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time._ I'll admit I'm very impatient to, however.

x: _seven_

**Dreamer**

She'd grown up into quite the successful businesswoman. Makoto rudely slapped her legs on the desk, crossing one over the other. She took a huge sweep of the impeccably new office, and mentally commended herself in self-satisfaction. Things were great. She really did end up becoming a hotel tycoon. She couldn't be prouder of herself.

"Makoto?"

She cocked a brow at the flamboyant double doors on the opposite side of the space, clicked her tongue at the new-comer, and spun capriciously in her lovely office chair. "That's Miss Konno to you, intern girl." It rolled off the lips quite nicely. She'd been waiting to say something so presumptuous her whole life.

"Makoto," the suddenly agitated girl snapped.

Makoto's conceited expression fell off her face. "What?'

"Makoto, wake up already!'

"Ngah!" blurted from her morning mouth, and she shot upright as if an electric rod had been shoved up her spine.

"Time for school, Makoto," conveyed Miyuki.

Makoto sighed. She'd finish the dream another day.

* * *

**A/N:** . . . I have no idea what this was about. I just thought it was funny. But I guess it's really not.


	8. Look Before You Leap

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time._ Though it's quite obvious that Chiaki does.

x: _eight_

**Look Before You Leap**

He stared up at the non-existent sky, watching the bleak, flat air cast a ticking silence over the tiny world. He shoved his hands into his pockets, felt the cool surface of the metallic walnut ensconced amongst the lint and old-era street change.

He saw the painting. He finally saw it.

He knew it was Makoto.

He wanted to see her. She lived centuries ago. When he had looked her up in the records, and found out the day she died, he realized how dated she was. How far away those days were, how gone she really was.

It took a lot of drive for him to have leapt that far back the first time, for the painting. Nothing mattered to him more than that painting. When he came back, he had thought, he'd be fulfilled. He wouldn't ask for anything ever again.

When he came back, he came back yearning. There was something else he wanted.

It took a lot to leap that far back. Determination determined how far back you could go, how specific the when and where would be when you landed. He wasn't sure he could do it again. He said he'd wait. But he couldn't. It was impossible to forget the wide, cerulean sky, the slim, tarnished baseball bats, the short crop of brown hair, the tears carved down her face like valleys, and—he was thinking about her again.

But he didn't know whether he could make the leap. Did she forget him while he was gone? Could've been easy. Did she, maybe, date some idiot-guy? She'd do something stupid like that. Did she . . . miss him, at all?

He pressed the sphere betwixt his fingers.

He'd go. He'd go and see for himself.

He wanted to go. He closed his eyes, imagined her voice, and jumped.

* * *

**A/N:** Is it just me, or do you imagine that Chiaki "leaps" in a much more dignified manner than Makoto? He probably just takes a step, and--zoom--he's in the right time. Haha, okay, it's not all that funny. Also, I realize that these pieces have been short; I apologize for that, but I can assure you there are longer ones in store . . . somewhere. Have an enjoyable day, and thank you for reading. :)


	9. Words of a Bird

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time_. There's really not much else to disclaim, is there?

x: _nine_

**Words of a Bird**

"_I mean, I'm not that ugly, am I?"_

Makoto squeezed her eyes shut. She kind of wished she'd never have to open them. Her arm dangled off the bedspread, fingers brushing empty summer air and ladybug legs.

_No, you're not, stupid._

She shifted against the covers, setting the alarm clock on her stomach and watching the numbers tick off.

"_Do you want to go out?"_

_Yes, I do. _

"Makoto! Time for dinner!"

"I'm coming!"

"_Have you been time-leaping?"_

_Yes._

"Makoto, are you coming?"

"Yes!"

She'd have the right answers for him next time.

* * *

**A/N:** Does this even count as a piece? So, shamelessly short, this one. Sorry if a series of these seems boring; it appear that I'm sometimes (or most of the time), boring. Sorry. So, I discovered that I actually won't have any time at all to upload another piece tomorrow, as I am leaving for vacation at six in the morning. I'll be gone for a few days, at _least_, so I may decide to post a few to keep up pace tonight. I'm still thinking on it. And, before I forget, thank you all so much for the lovely comments; they really make me smile, and I'm happy to continue contriving these little drabbles. Very happy.


	10. Wheels Turning

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time, _and that, unfortunately, includes Makoto, Chiaki, and Kousuke. But a girl can dream, can't they? In fact, they usually do.

x: _ten_

**Wheels Turning**

Kousuke noticed.

The way he laughed a little too loudly when she did something stupid.

The way he watched her strut off down the street without waiting for them to come along.

The way he came tardy every day to school, just so he could be on time for her.

"Fireworks Festival, huh?" she parroted, ignoring his proposal to examine the advertising on her soda can.

"Yeah, sound good?" he asked, hanging for her answer.

"Nah, sounds lame."

"Aww, c'mon. It'd be fun, right, Kousuke?" _Agree with me._

"Yeah, it will."

"I'd have to wear a yukata," she responded, grimacing as she slid her eyes to the top of the can and pulled the tab.

"I'd like to see that," he announced jokingly. He wasn't really joking.

She grunted noncommittally, watching the neighborhood kids practice their catches. "Well, what you do want to do, Kousuke?"

"What?" he exclaimed. "What about what I want to do?"

"Don't be selfish. It has to be something the three of us want to do." She looked at other boy. He looked at the other boy. His eyes said everything.

"I agree with Chiaki. We should go watch the Fireworks Festival."

Makoto gave an almighty groan of dissatisfaction. Chiaki smiled.

Yes, Kousuke thought, he noticed.

* * *

**A/N:** Finally, I decided to remember Kousuke. He makes these pieces a lot livelier, doesn't he? This will probably be the last one before I go off for the weekend. I was thinking I'd upload the another one, too, but, urgh, I'm not too fond of it, and I wouldn't want to leave anyone with a bitter taste in their mouth. Enjoy the weekend!


	11. Open Heart

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time._ Time to think of something clever to end this with. Time's up.

x: _eleven_

**Open Heart**

Kousuke liked her, too. He quietly did. Chiaki knew it.

He still wasn't sure what he would do. But Chiaki always seemed like the type to go breaking her heart. So, Kousuke stood there silently watching, waiting to be her pillar, to be his opposite and welcome her with open arms. She'd choose him, then.

"C'mon, stop throwing like such a girl, Makoto!"

"I'm throwing it just fine, Chiaki! Shut up!"

"Cut it out, Chiaki." Chiaki would glance at him, just briefly, before adhering to the simple request. After a while, he'd start it up again.

Chiaki liked her. Kousuke liked her, too.

He just wasn't sure which one she liked.

* * *

**A/N: **Because I have a feeling Kousuke likes her, too. But he'll be the bigger man. Poor guy; the subject of behind-the-back matchmaking the entire movie. I'll admit, that this might possibly be the shortest piece of them all. But, after this, expect some decent-sized ones? I'm honestly amazed if anyone's still keeping up, considering the brevity of these things. Thank you for reading.


	12. Truth Is

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time_. I do, however, now own eight, very cute cellphone charms that I'll probably never use.

x: _twelve_

**Truth Is**

"Uhh." Makoto snuck a glance out the window, pancakes a dissected mess on her plate.

"C'mon. You can tell me anything," he insisted, grinning like the fool she knew he was.

"Errr." She drummed her finger against the table, then hauled the glass of chilled green tea to her lips. A gurgle he couldn't quite understand came bubbling out.

Frowning, he took her hand and pulled the beverage out of her mouth. "Makoto, stop being a baby. I just asked who've you dated these past few years."

"Um." She coughed, choking spectacularly on the little liquid left in her throat. "N-no one much. Just, you know, some guys that—I didn't really date any of them long. It's like a buffet—you try a little of a lot of stuff, but in the end you don't really eat all that much." She laughed. Nervously.

He frowned. "Something you want to tell me?" he muttered, surly. He no longer watched her, but picked disinterestedly at his omelet, something he had been very intent on ordering since he returned from the far future.

Her eyebrows drew together like a stubborn wave in the ocean. She hated when he got like this. He was such a child. "Fine," she pouted, cheeks bloated and pink, "I'll tell you. Geez."

He brightened immediately. "Cool," he replied glibly, miserably hiding his curiosity.

She narrowed her eyes at him. There was no way she'd tell if he didn't. She'd offer an ultimatum. "Only if you tell me, too."

"That's fine," he parried in a heartbeat.

He was so stupid. Why wasn't he affected? "You go first, then," she grumbled, crossing her arms and turning her nose.

He smiled. (She liked it.) "No one," he said.

She was confused. "What? What do you mean?"

"No one. I didn't date anyone."

Her jaw dropped open like a Venus Flytrap finished digesting. "What?"

"Your turn."

She blubbered unintelligibly, mumbling all sorts of excuses and spewing something about lying, his face, pancakes getting cold. He smirked. He liked this game.

"Makoto."

More gibberish.

"Makoto!"

"What?" she snapped back.

"It's fine. I don't care anymore. You don't have to--"

"Fine!" She slammed her hand on the surface of the table. "I dated Kousuke! Okay? I dated him!"

Chiaki stared at her, bewildered and slightly affronted. Makoto bit her lip. She ruined it. She was just about to finally date this guy—this stupid guy from the future that asked her to stupidly run, and she ruined it.

"I just," she dragged a hand across her face, exasperated, "I missed you, and I liked Kousuke, too, okay? I'm sorry."

She felt something hit her head. It was Chiaki's palm. "Hey, don't worry about it. He deserved a chance, too, Makoto. Besides, the most important thing is --"

"What?"

"--I get my turn now."

* * *

**A/N:** Longer, right? I've been secretly working on it! Still rather short, though; sorry. I don't feel like I did these characters justice this time around, though, amusing as it was. It's a typical, hot summer day today. I have the fan on beside me and a bottle of water nearly completely consumed. And it's only April. July, I can expect things from you. Hehe, thank you for reading. Have a pleasantly fiery day.


	13. Guilty Conscience

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time_. But I have a feeling someone somewhere does.

x: _thirteen_

**Guilty Conscience**

Makoto kicked her shoes off at the door. She tossed her bag swiftly onto the couch and trotted down the hallway, picking up some discarded clothes as she went. "Messy, sorry about that," she apologized awkwardly. She tucked the loose t-shirts, jeans, and skirts against her bosom as she bounded to the washing machine in the laundry room.

"Go ahead, grab something to eat in the fridge! Anything you like!" he heard shooting from over the purr of the washing machine at work. He shrugged off his belongings, and meandered to the sofa positioned in front of the TV, seating himself comfortably in the middle. How did these things turn on again? His eyes wandered over and latched onto the sleek, white stick on the arm of the upholstery with far too many buttons. He squinted down at the tiny characters. Boy, did he abhor the languages in this time period. So laborious to learn. He pressed the circular, red dot on the anterior end and the contraption blinked to life. Well, he felt pretty smart, just then.

He felt comfortable, far more comfortable then he had in years. He already liked the place. He decided to tell her just that. "Hey, Makoto!" he yelled over his shoulder. "Like the apartment!"

"Ehh," she replied, sounding lukewarm.

He shifted his attention back to the the television, eyes suddenly bugging out at the date written in the corner. Ancient. This thing was ancient. Just then, something in his peripheral vision caught his eye. He blinked over to it, and abruptly stopped breathing at what he saw: an article of Makoto's underthings.

He cleared his throat, feeling pink in the cheeks. Her future self was really messy. He averted his eyes, shortly developing the desire to not be the in same room as the thing, especially since Makoto would be mortified out of her mind once she found out.

His traitorous eyes returned to it, then flashed off into another direction, then back. He had to get out of here. He stood up as quickly and as noiselessly as he could and sauntered into the laundry room. "Um, Makoto?" he began, only to find she was no longer in the dark, tiny niche.

"I'm in the bedroom!" she shouted, at enough volume for him to catch it. He poked his head out of the area and gazed down the hall. There was an open door down the end.

"Hey, um, you don't really clean up after yourself, do you?"

Makoto finished stacking up her books on the desk by her bed. "What? No, that's just the hallway." Her face winkled. "I get up late in the morning sometimes, so it gets a little messy, and by the time I come home, I'm too tired to deal with it."

"You . . . have . . ." He fumbled, and let the sentence die. He was too much of a coward to say it.

"What?"

"Nothing. Nevermind."

"What'd you say about my apartment earlier? Sorry, didn't quite catch it," Makoto piped, self-consciously making her bed as if it had never been mussed.

"Said I like it," he replied simply.

"Actually, it's kind of small," she conceded modestly, fluffing her pillow. She froze mid-fluff when she realized he was standing right behind her.

"Nah, it'll fit us both just fine."

Her eyes expanded like water on car wax. "What are you talking about?" she whispered, knuckles going bone-white.

"The bed, right? It's not that small. We'll be okay."

"You are _not_ sleeping in this bed, Chiaki."

"What?' He gave her a look. "Isn't that rude or something? Where am I supposed to stay?"

"Sofa."

"_What_?"

"Sofa!"

* * *

**A/N:** Wow, not one, but two un-short drabbles in a row. I'm really getting the hang of it. Sort of. Thank you for reading, and have a pleasant day. :)


	14. Appetite

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time._ Seriously, what is taking that DVD so long to arrive?

x: _fourteen_

**Appetite**

"Let's go eat!"

"What? Again? Makoto, we had a snack on our way home from school yesterday and the day before yesterday. Shouldn't we call it quits before you go broke?"

". . .Well, actually, I was hoping you'd pay for it."

"What? Why would I do that?"

"C'mon, please? I'll pay you back, but I'm just really, really feeling like ramen right now."

Kousuke heaved a giant sigh. "Good grief. Fine. Just not tomorrow."

She lit up brilliantly, and slapped him heartily on the shoulder. "Thanks, Kousuke!" Makoto sped up her pace, the knapsack bouncing off her side as she traipsed down the sidewalk. At the corner of the road, she about-faced and waved gleefully at him, pointing childishly toward the ramen shop next to her. She was such a sucker for food.

Soon enough, the two of them had ducked into eatery. Makoto roved her eyes over the menus, then abruptly screeched to a dead-halt. "Kousuke," she murmured, "it's the new student from our school. Chiako."

"Chiaki, Makoto," Kousuke corrected with a sigh. He shrugged, leaving her at the door, and sat unaffectedly next to the orange-topped head. He, Chiaki, glanced once at Kousuke, then completely ignored him. She uncertainly shuffled forward and plopped down on the opposite side of Kousuke. Her eyes darted toward the transfer student. He looked sort of a like a troublemaker. She'd seen him once beat up a guy, or, at least, looked like he was about to. Without warning, he locked eyes with her. She jolted her gaze toward the menus, feeling sweat break out on her forehead. She didn't even realize she'd been leaning forward and staring at him.

"May I have some shio ramen?" inquired Kousuke, breaking the nondescript quietude, speaking to the chef.

Makoto frowned. He was already ordering? She licked her lips, wordlessly wondering which kind to order. They all looked rather appetizing. "Excuse me, may I have one miso ramen, then, please?" she finally decided.

There was an oppressive blackout of speech once she'd finished ordering. Kousuke patiently sat there, waiting for his dish, and did not seem inclined to strike up a conversation with her. She glanced over her tall friend's shoulder, at the boy on his other side. Chiako—Chiaki? Sounded about right. Chiaki appeared to be having some trouble with the menu. His eyes burned holes into the boards on the wall, and there was an uncomprehending grimace on his face.

"I'd take the miso. It's the best," she offered without thinking.

Both Kousuke and Chiaki turned to look at her, startled.

". . . Thanks," Chiaki muttered unenthusiastically.

"No problem." Now, she felt stupid. She swung her gaze all the way over to the opposite side of the restaurant and pretended to be engrossed by the traffic on the other side of the glass partition.

When her ramen arrived, she muttered a quick thanks, picked up her chopsticks and consumed it as speedily as possible. Her eyes slid over only once during her meal, to find that he, too, was sharing a bowl of noodles much like her own. She smiled to herself, slightly gratified that he had taken her advice.

The second she finished, she leapt up out of the stool and briskly jogged to the exit, pausing only to wait for Kousuke to drag a napkin across his mouth.

"Slow down, Makoto," groused Kousuke, nearly tripping over his foot as he struggled to catch up with her.

**

* * *

**

Makoto struggled to keep her eyelids from flying closed. Her head lolled lifelessly to the side, propped uneasily against her hand. This was taking forever. She watched him pace across the room in front of her, mechanized mouth grinding up and down, the words lost on her, but scraping uselessly against her eardrums.

"So, to solve for this equation, simply square-root both sides to--"

_Uggggggh._

Then, the bell sounded, sounded like heaven.

"Alright, I'll finish the lecture after lunch. Dismissed."

She released an almighty sigh of relief and surrendered her heavy head to the tempting surface of the desk. A horde of restless students like her scrambled out of the door for their lunch.

"I'm going to study in the library for the test tomorrow, Makoto. Coming?" queried Kousuke, a formidable collection of books already encircled by his arm.

"No," she had the energy to wheeze back in response, "I'm so hungry."

"'Kay, then." He gave her a half-hearted wave and stepped out of the class. She frowned after him, then, with great reluctance, hoisted her duffel onto her lap. Makoto undid the zipper and scooped out the paper bag carrying her daily beverage and submarine sandwich.

"Hey, thanks for yesterday."

Astonished, she shot a quick glance over her shoulder. It was the new student. He was still sitting in his desk by the window.

"You're welcome," came her rejoinder, albeit cautiously. Her eyes flashed hastily toward the door. She turned back to him; he didn't seem to have a meal. "You want some of my sandwich?"

He regarded her with stupefaction, not knowing what to really say. Then: "No, thanks."

"Okay. I'm going to head out to eat; you want to come?"

He looked at her again. "No, thanks."

"Okay." She stood up in slow motion, half wondering whether she should stay in to keep him company. He cocked a brow at her questioningly, then waved her off. She shot him an amiable smile, and headed out to eat her lunch.

* * *

"I'm starved!" Makoto cried jubilantly, clenching pocket money in her fist.

Kousuke shot her a reproving look. "Tell me we're not going to eat ramen again. We did that almost all of last week."

"We're going to eat ramen again," responded Makoto, ignoring the lack of passion in her companion's voice. "Don't worry; I've got enough to cover your meal, Kousuke."

"That's not my main concern, Makoto." Nevertheless, he followed her begrudgingly into the familiar building, and almost crashed bodily into her miniature stature when she decided to stop dead right in front of him. "Makoto, what's your prob--"

She rather brusquely picked up her pace again, and sat, much to Kousuke's surprise, next to the boy that sat behind them in class. Kousuke couldn't even begin to comprehend what she thought she was doing, and took his seat on her unoccupied side.

"May I have one miso ramen?" entreated Makoto evenly, her face brimming with an everyday smile.

"Me, too, please," said Chiaki.

Kousuke leaned back in his chair, slightly stunned. Then, he shook his head. "I'll have what they're having."

* * *

**A/N:** If you were expecting a continuation of the previous piece, sorry to disappoint. My brain apparently works in very unjointed ways. Sorry if it seemed sketchy at some places; I had difficulty constructing out the scene. Awkward new student makes things awkward. Another un-short one, huh? What a wild streak. Haha, thank you all for the lovely reviews and please do have a very good day.


	15. Two Left Feet

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The_ _Girl Who Leapt Through Time._ But I do own a copy now. Yes. Triumph.

x: _fifteen_

**Two Left Feet**

"What?" she exclaimed, sounding offended. "What do you mean, you can't ride a bike?"

Chiaki shrugged.

"No, no, no, no, _no_," she said, shaking her hands vigorously. "This can't go on."

"What?"

"You have to learn. Now."

"Why?" cried Chiaki, looking as if she'd been stricken by a horrible illness.

"How do you even get around?" protested Makoto. "You're impossible, Chiaki." She faced Kousuke. "Let Chiaki borrow your bike, will you, Kousuke? We can help him learn starting tomorrow after school."

"Sure," he acquiesced, snaking a glance at the tortured boy.

"No!"

* * *

"This thing isn't even balanced!" yelped Chiaki, both feet planted firmly on the pavement.

"Stop being a baby. Makoto's holding the back; you'll be fine," input Kousuke, arms folded as he watched from the side of the street. Chiaki shot an edgy glance downward, at the two ridiculous-looking pedals.

"C'mon, Chiaki. Both feet on the pedals, and press down."

". . . I'm going to eat dirt if I do that."

"Well, you might at first," agreed Kousuke.

Chiaki took on the appearance of a desperate puppy. "No way! I'm getting off this thing!"

"Chiaki, stop fooling around. You won't fall off. I'm holding the back, see?" Makoto interjected, brows knitted in consternation.

Chiaki rubbed his temple, suddenly feeling nauseous. "Fine, okay. I'll try it." He gripped the bicycle handles, felt sweat forming on his palms, and pulled his right foot onto the pedal.

"Both at the same time!" bellowed Makoto, watching with breathless excitement from the behind him.

He grit his teeth, and set the other foot on the pedal. Then, he felt himself teeter dangerously to the side, and his right foot shot out like a bullet. "That almost killed me!"

"No, you almost got it, Chiaki! Try it again!"

A groan. He pulled both feet onto the bike pedals and pushed down. He jerked forward in surprise, then began to wobble. He felt Makoto struggling to keep the bike upright from the back. Not sure how to go about it, he gave the pedals another press, and the whole contraption lurched a few feet forward. "A-am I supposed to keep doing this?"

"Yeah, you've got it! Just keep going!"

Chiaki obediently rolled the pedals around in controlled orbits, watching in amazement as the chain-links clicked and spun the wheels. He hadn't even fallen yet. He glanced over his shoulder. "Hey, Makoto, thanks! I'm not even wobb--" His pupils dilated. She wasn't behind him.

She was waving from next to Kousuke.

"WAH!"

And he crashed.

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry for the long interlude between updates. School took over. Actually, school took the back seat. I had been planning a huge surprise birthday party for my best friend. That day was one of the best days of my life, and I hope he'll never forget it. Now I have a ton of stuff to get caught up on, unfortunately.

Sorry if this one is a little rough; I wasn't very focused when I wrote it. To be honest, I haven't ridden a bicycle in years. Thank you for a reading, and have an unforgettable day, please. :)


	16. Pick Up Lines

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time._ If I did, I would not be writing this disclaimer, now, would I?

x: _sixteen_

**Pick-Up Lines**

"_I'm not that ugly, am I?"_

She flipped to the next page of her textbook. Studying was boring. She didn't know how Kousuke could stand doing this for hours on end.

"_Are you serious?"_

She scratched at an itch on her left earlobe, frowning since these English sentences suddenly did not make sense. She'd probably have to call Kousuke for help.

"_As I can be."_

She spiraled across the rumpled bedsheets and retrieved the compact cellphone from her desk.

"_How about you and me go out, Makoto?"_

She set her face in a frown and began dialing, intent on not enjoying any possible explanation Kousuke was about to give her.

"_If Kousuke gets a girlfriend, then--"_

"Hello?"

"_I want to talk about my sister!"_

"Hi, Kousuke."

"_Wanna go out with me?!"_

"I need help with our English homework." She was grinning.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm very sorry! It appears that this piece has confused more than a few people; I apologize. Basically, Chiaki's gone, but Makoto's reminiscing (in italics), because that conversation they had that never existed thanks to Makoto, was both sweet and goofy. She didn't appreciate his stubborness at the time, but now, it's memorable. When she remembers it, she can't help but smile. Because memories are all she's got. I hope that cleared things up. If it's still too obscure, please let me know, and I will not hesitate to take this piece down. Thank you for reading. Have a happy day.


	17. Domestic Affairs

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time_. But in some fictitious universe, I do. And in that fictitious universe, the following occured. ;)

x: _seventeen_

**Domestic Affairs**

Chiaki glanced up from rummaging around in the refrigerator. He swiveled his head in bewilderment, trying to locate the source of the sudden sound.

From the beside the couch: the telephone.

On the fifth ring, he picked it up. "Hello?"

"H-hello?" came the startled reply. "Sorry, I'm must've gotten the wrong number . . .?" The feminine voice faded, then there was an abrupt click as the line went dead.

Chiaki stared at the receiver, perplexed. Then, much to his incredulity, it began to ring again. "Hello?" he answered, warily this time.

"Is this . . . the residence of Konno Makoto?" queried the very same voice that had hung up on him seconds previous.

"Yes, it is."

"Oh!" There was a sharp intake of breath. "W-who is this?"

"Oh, sorry, this is Chiaki speaking. Makoto left for work this morning."

"Chiaki? Chiaki . . . Mamiya, from high school?!"

"Yeah. May I ask who this is?"

"This is Hayakawa Yuri, from high school, the same class. Do you remember?"

"Of course, I do," Chiaki replied brusquely, comfortably propping his elbow on the small table-top. "How you are, Hayakawa?"

"I'm doing well. I didn't know you had dropped into town."

"Yeah, I just moved back recently. Makoto's letting me hang out at her place while I get re-acquainted with everything."

"Gosh, that was really unexpected. I was expecting to hear Makoto's voice on the other end, you know," laughed Yuri. "Instead, I'm greeted by a man's voice."

Chiaki chuckled. "Yeah, I guess that would be funny."

"Alright, well, it's nice talking to you again, Mamiya."

Chiaki's ears pricked. He heard the tell-tale jingle of keys swinging and finally hitting the door. With an exhausted sigh from the other side, the entrance to the apartment swung open.

"Tell Makoto that we should meet up sometime s--"

"Yo, Makoto. How was work?" grinned Chiaki, giving her a small wave.

She glanced up at him, eyes bloodshot and slightly unfocused. "Tough d--" She froze, gaping at him, and a shudder spiked through her entire body. She jerked a spasmodic extremity at him, pointing as if he were a ghost from a horror movie. "Wh-what are you doing, Chiaki?!" she screeched, absolutely horrified.

"Huh? What's going on? Hello?" filtered weakly from the receiver.

He stared at the device in his palm, then held it out to her apologetically. "Sorry, I answered the phone. It's Hayakawa, if you want to--"

"Not that!" she refuted, eyes fixated at his waist. It was then that his gazed lowered to his own body. Wrapped around his waist, and shielding the skin from thereon to the knees, was one of Makoto's worn, white towels.

"Oh, sorry about that, Makoto. I forgot to bring a towel of my own, so--"

"T-take it off!" she shrieked, feeling her face heat up.

"Are you serious?"

Makoto went white. "Wait, no, don't take it off! S-stay right where you are!" She scrambled past him, her eyes averted from his general direction as she sprinted into the laundry room. Seconds later, an arm popped out from the door frame and hurled pants and a t-shirt at him. "Change!"

"Calm down, Makoto. Geez," responded Chiaki evenly. "You're blowing this way out of proportion."

Makoto squeezed her eyes shut from the laundry room, and sank weakly to her knees. This was going to be hard.

* * *

**A/N:** It's ridiculous and silly, I know. I wrote it out of pure amusement, and, in my chortling amusement, I may not have written it as best as I could, but here you go. Boy, is Chiaki a tease. I'm just hoping that something like this doesn't happen to me next year. Thank you for reading. Have a pleasant day.


	18. In For Repairs

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time._ My television ate it. Sorry.

x: _eighteen_

**In For Repairs**

Makoto rubbed her nose churlishly, then glanced up hopefully. "How is it?"

"Good as new, Makoto," came the cheerful reply. "You won't have to worry about anymore broken brakes. But, if anything happens, feel free to come back and get it fixed up."

Makoto gave a sigh of relief and smiled amicably at the bicycle repairman. "Thanks; this is the second time I've had to get it fixed."

"Oh, yeah, I remember that time a couple of years ago. If you hadn't brought it in, probably would've been a doozie, huh?"

She flinched imperceptibly. "Guess so, huh?" She hurriedly shoved a hand into her bag to retrieve the appropriate sum to pay him with. He watched her poke her tongue out, just barely, as she flipped through the bills, mentally counting her way along. His brows knitted together anxiously, and he ran his fingers through his choppy brown hair.

"Say, Makoto--"

"Yep. Here it is." She slapped the money on the counter, rather pleased with herself for finding it so quickly. "Thanks for everything--"

"--Do you want to go out with me?"

Her foot, one step closer to the antique vehicle, stopped in mid-air. She stood silently there for a very long time, eyes sharp like polished knives. He shifted from his left to his right foot, and cleared his throat. Maybe she wasn't planning to answer him.

"_Do you want to go out?"_

She sucked in a bracing breath, and let her foot drop against the recently cleaned floor. Her eyes roved restlessly from one corner of the shop to the other. She pressed her lips thinly together and gave him an awkward, uncertain smile. "Yes, okay, that's fine."

He brightened immediately. "That's great. How about this Friday?"

"Sure," she answered compliantly, rubbing the back of her neck.

She couldn't say no. Not like last time.

* * *

**A/N:** Ick. I'm sure I got the sentiment across well enough here. I know and believe Makoto should have said no, but I think she's been taught not to repeat mistakes by now, so that's why this piece came out like it did. Not too enthusiastic about it, though.

Also, I've been asked a few questions about this, so I thought I'd take a little time to stick in a reminder. From the very outset, it has been completely up to _you_ whether or not to regard this series as a connected story, or as separate snippets. And next to nothing happens in complete chronological order, starting from chapter 6 and on.

It's been a while since I've said this, but I cannot possibly _thank you all enough_ for all the support and lovely feedback. Every review leaves me with a smile on my face, and I'm flattered that so many people would take the time to leave a little message for me. So, thank you, thank you! I will continue to do my best. Thank you for reading. Have a brilliant day.


	19. Never

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time_. I have nothing clever to say. Really, nothing at all.

x: _nineteen_

**Never**

Never in a million years would he like her.

If it weren't for the skirt, he'd have totally thought she was a boy.

"What's with that face, Chiaki?"

"What?" he retorted. "What face?"

"That one you just had on. Like you were constipated."

"Nothing. It was nothing," he said, irked.

"It's that page in the book, right?" She popped her head right over his shoulder by standing on her tip-toes. Her arm shot past his nose and at the complicated sentence he'd been staring for the past five minutes. "It's says," she began, and he felt her warm breath raise the downy hairs on the back of his neck, "statistical mechanics explains entropy as the amount of uncertainty which remains about a system after—what?—after its observable macroscopic properties have been taken into account. Eeeh?" A pause. "How confusing; why can't they just say it the normal way?"

"Well," he met eyes with her, his tone strikingly deep and serious, "it makes a little more sense now."

She raised both eyebrows. "Okay, whatever you say. I guess you are good at mathematics, after all."

He threw the book back onto the shelf. "It's supposed to be science," he explained with a sigh.

She laughed outrageously, nearly drawing the eyes of everyone in the bookstore to her. "Science makes absolutely no sense to me."

"Me neither," he muttered. He slapped a hand to his face. He liked her.

* * *

**A/N:** Short, sorry about that! I really liked the idea that inspired this piece, but I'm not sure the execution of it was all that great. Thank you for reading. Have a day that you want.


	20. Mistaken

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time_. But in a day's time, I will own myself. Spiffy, huh?

x: _twenty_

**Mistaken**

"Alright, Kousuke, I'll meet you there in five minutes," Makoto remarked, jumping quickly over the gap between the station floor and the subway train. She flipped the cover of the phone closed and kept it in her palm as she kneaded through the crowd and tried to find herself suitable place to stand.

Some nudged her shoulder rather boorishly as they passed, and she bit back a wince as she continued forward into the car. She searched for any unoccupied hand bars dangling from the ceiling, quickly glancing them over once, twice. Her eyes alighted on a free spot just as she neared the other end. _Score_.

Her digits wrapped casually around the plastic ring swinging over her heard, and she happily took to looking out the window, observing as the landscape passed by as if being sucked through a straw. She drew her eyes from left to right, flicking them over occasionally as the ride continued.

The train screeched to a halt, and her eyes instantly flew to the automatic doors as people began to filter in and out. Her fingers suddenly went lax.

"Ch . . . Chiaki?" she gasped, craning her head to catch another glimpse of the familiar, bright hair. "Chiaki?" She abandoned her spot, and shouldered past commuters as she tried to approach the boy shuffling out of the train. "Chiaki? Chiaki!" What was he doing here?

_Wait. Don't leave! Wait!_

She saw the broad shoulders heading dangerously close to the exit, heard the vague warning from the speakers to keep the doors clear. "Chiaki!" she cried, nearly sprinting against all the traffic that came in the opposite direction. There were disturbed mutters around her, but none of that mattered.

"Chiaki!" she gave the final cry, as he took one step out of the subway car. Slowly, so slowly that she stopped immediately where she was, he turned. She felt something wet sting her eyes. It wasn't him.

The distant, unfamiliar face glanced once over at her then informally headed down the station outside. Her shoulders went limp, and she hung her head, feeling humiliated and disappointed all at once. She jerked the flat of her hand across her eyes and shuffled despondently back to where she had been standing. It wasn't him, of course not, she berated herself. Why in the world would he even be here?

She sucked in an unhappy breath and set her eyes on the top margin of the windows.

"_Dummy."_

She jolted, alarmed by the crass and cheerful voice ghosting at her ear. She swung her gaze wildly around. Nothing. She must've been imagining things. The genial speaker piped from the sound system, indicating it was her stop. She glanced at the time on her cellphone. She'd have to hurry if she wanted to meet up with Kousuke in time.

She ambled expeditiously out, taking a capricious, little leap over the gap between the train and the gray track of the station. She furrowed her brow. She felt as if she'd done this all before.

* * *

**A/N:** I'll leave it up to you to guess what _that_ means. ;3

Thank you all for sticking with me up to this point. It's been a busy, and will be from here on out, so updates my be sparse. I want to apologize in advance. Thank you for reading! Have a super-special day.


	21. Happy Ending

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time_. Someone does, though, and they must be very brilliant.

**A/N:** I hate to throw off the flow of things, but I strongly encourage you to read this article here, omitting the spaces, ( http://en. wikipedia. org/wiki/Toki_o_Kakeru_Sh%C5%8Djo ) before you proceed, as it influenced this piece very heavily, and this piece may not make sense otherwise. I apologize for the inconvenience.

x: _twenty-one_

**Happy Ending**

"Makoto, this is Sogoru Ken," Aunt Majo smiled keenly, "an old friend from high school."

Makoto gave the tall brunet a wide grin. "I'm Auntie Majo's niece: Konno Makoto. Nice to meet you," she remarked, giving the man a firm, but characteristically lackadaisical, handshake.

"Nice to meet you," he intoned, a smart twinkle in his eye. "Your aunt has told me a lot about you."

Makoto raised her brows inquisitively. "Oh, really?"

Majo laughed heartily. "Nothing bad, I promise."

Makoto broke into another grin. She hadn't heard her unusually reserved relative laugh like that in ages. "Auntie, I'm going to get something to drink, okay?"

Majo nodded serenely at her, then focused her attention back on the handsome man by her side. "It's been a while, hasn't it, Ken?" she murmured pensively, cocking her head minutely to take in the matured shape of his face.

"Yeah, it has, Kazuko."

Majo's brow rose comically, a mimicry of her niece's expression. "No one has called me that in ages," she beamed, hazel eyes luminescent.

"Why is that?"

"I don't remember why," she replied, searching his face curiously. "I think the 'Majo' nickname started up around the end of high school, sometime after you moved away."

"You remember that?"

"Vaguely." She placed a finger to her chin thoughtfully, frowning faintly, trying to chase memories that seemed to elude her. "Anyway, what have you been up to, Ken?"

He chuckled uneasily. "I've been here and there, traveling a lot."

"Sounds like you," Majo remarked. "Just like that boy Makoto accidentally fell for."

Ken glanced out the restaurant window. "That's unfortunate for your niece."

"Oh, she's very optimistic about it," contravened Majo lightheartedly. "How long are you planning to stay in town, Ken?"

"A while," he answered, examining Majo's visage carefully. He folded his hands atop the table. "Kazuko, do you happen to be in a relationship right now?"

She gave a small start. "No, why?"

"Would you like . . . to go out with me?"

Majo maneuvered a hand across her stunned expression, a transparent blush detectable on her cheeks. "Sure, Ken. I-I don't see why not."

His face dimpled into a smile. "Good to hear it. I've been meaning to ask you that for a while."

Majo blinked, feeling slightly off. "I . . . felt like I've been waiting for a while, myself." She cast him an abashed look. "It's silly, isn't it?"

He leaned forward, eyes penetrating her own. "Not really."

"Whoa, am I interrupting something?" declared a rather boisterous voice. A steaming cup of coffee descended to the table as Makoto scooted in next to her aunt.

"No, nothing at all," Majo insisted merrily. "Oops, Makoto. Could you stand up for a bit? I'll have to excuse myself for a moment." Makoto jerked clumsily to her feet, the coffee-flavored spoon hanging from her mouth. Makoto watched as her aunt meandered to the nearby restroom and disappeared behind the door.

"So, umm, really," began Makoto ambivalently, "did I interrupt something?"

"Well, actually, I was just asking your aunt out," spoke Ken frankly.

Makoto's almond eyes went wide. "Wow."

He answered with a chuckle. "Don't worry, Konno. If he's anything like me, he'll be back."

Makoto's fingers limply unwrapped themselves from the handle of the utensil. "What?"

Ken smiled cryptically at her, then pivoted his gaze to stare at the traffic out on the street. "You had to teach him how to ride a bicycle, didn't you?"

Makoto furrowed her brow in mystification. "How much did Auntie tell you?"

He glanced at her from the corner of his eyes, holding laughter in the double dark orbs. "She told me very little. I guessed the rest myself."

" . . . What?" Makoto mumbled, the gears in her head turning fruitlessly. "Are you—do you know—"

"Oops, am I interrupting something interesting?" chimed in.

Makoto drew her gaze away from the intriguing stranger and back at her aunt. "Not really."

They were smiling.

* * *

**A/N: **Ack, ack. It ended rather oddly. I couldn't think of anything. When I watched the movie again, I really did think that Makoto's Aunt Majo _is _Yasutaka Tsutsui's Kazuko Yoshiyama. And I was curious about that whole story, too. That's how this came about. Sorry for the long delay. Thank you for reading. Have a sing-song day.


	22. Not Unusual

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time_. But don't think that I never will, since I might be planning to take over the world.

x: _twenty-two_

**Not Unusual**

"Have I talked to you about this before?" asked the disconcerted younger sibling. "I feel like I have."

Makoto traced a line across the paper with her ruler, eyeing the distance critically. "To be honest, I feel like you have, too," she grunted out, sizing up the proportion.

Miyuki shifted fretfully on the stool across the room. "I just don't know how to tell him."

"_I told him! It was an absolute mess!"_

Makoto gave her sister an odd look. "Didn't you say you told him how you feel already?"

Miyuki fixated her sibling with a perturbed stare. "No, I didn't. Didn't you just hear what I said?"

"_What am I supposed to do? How do I face him now?"_

Makoto's countenance contorted, and she plopped the ruler against the desktop, distracted. "Have you been, um, time-leaping, Miyuki?"

Miyuki regarded her sister with a deadpan stare. "What is that?"

Makoto suddenly appeared as if she'd been hit by a car. "Nevermind! Forget what I just said!"

"Anyway, I . . . how do I tell him?"

Makoto gave her a little sister a sympathetic look. "I have a feeling he already knows."

"What? What do you mean? Am I _that_ obvious?" Miyuki gasped, mortified.

Makoto slowly shook her head, no. "He just knows much more than you give him credit for."

"So . . . so what do I do, sister?"

Makoto gazed into those plaintive eyes, and vigorously explained: "Grab him by the collar, kiss him senseless, and say it clearly: 'I love you, idiot. And don't even _think_ about making me have to tell you this again!'"

Miyuki gawked as if Makoto had sprouted a third arm out of her behind. "W-why would I say something like that?"

Makoto shrugged, half-smilingly. "It would have definitely kept me from making him have to say it again, that's for certain."

Miyuki apprehensively toyed with the strands of her dark locks. "Should I really?"

"Who knows? Maybe if you're lucky, he won't make you say it again."

"What do you mean 'again'? I haven't even told him anything yet!"

Makoto tapped the ruler against her cheek meditatively. "I wouldn't be so sure, little sister." Makoto chuckled, and sat back down to her work.

_Young love._

**A/N:** Because, according to Aunt Majo, this time-leaping thing: it happens to a lot of girls her age. Anyways, I'm bushed, so I don't have much to say, not that I would be able to convey it properly, anyway. I am aware that some of the drabbles have lead to confusion, so, please, do not hesitate to ask if any part of anything doesn't seem to fall quite into place. I'll try my best to explain. Thank you so much for reading. Have a lovely night.


	23. Foreign Language

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time._ Otherwise, I wouldn't be indulging my fangirlish fantasies, now, would I?

x: _twenty-three_

**Foreign Language**

"Chiaki! You didn't tell us you got cellphone," Makoto crowed, seizing the rectangular, red item from his side pocket.

Chiaki rubbed the back of his neck, clearing his throat in distress. "Well, I didn't think it was important."

"Now that you have one, we should exchange numbers." Makoto nodded, as if adhering to strict protocol.

"Ummm."

Makoto returned the compact device into Chiaki's palm; he stared down at it as if it were completely alien to him.

"You've never done this before, have you?" Kousuke inquired dryly.

"No," came the admission.

"Where did you say you were from?"

Chiaki pivoted the cellphone, suddenly captivated by the apparatus. "So, what do I do?"

"Hold it still," Makoto murmured, grabbing Chiaki's wrist, then letting go.

There was a small beep. Chiaki blinked in astonishment. "Whoa, that's insane!" Makoto and Kousuke chuckled at his childish amazement.

"Now you have our numbers. Call us anytime, alright?"

Chiaki beamed at them, certain he would take them up on the invitation.

* * *

**A/N:** Yes, I am jealous of the infrared ports on Japanese cell phones. Makes things so simple. :) Thank you for reading. And I don't say this enough, but thank you for all the lovely support. Have a splendid day.


	24. Time Sensitive

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time._ But if I found a genie, I definitely would. Well, actually, maybe not.

x: _twenty-four_

**Time Sensitive**

Chiaki cackled vociferously as she bit into the powdered donut.

"What?" Makoto griped, mouth half full.

"Don't you ever worry about getting fat, Makoto?"

Kousuke sighed, bringing his fingers to his throbbing temple.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Makoto hollered around the snack, defiantly stuffing the rest of the confection down. She took an almighty gulp, bumbling for air. "I work it off, anyway, with all the baseball."

"Don't think so," contradicted Chiaki with a burgeoning smirk, "considering your uselessly weak left arm."

Makoto snatched another donut from Kousuke's plate. "Says the person who didn't even know what baseball _was_ two weeks ago."

"She has a point, Chiaki," Kousuke agreed.

"I guess that makes it even worse for you, Makoto. You suck so bad, and I've only been playing for two weeks!" Chiaki grinned smugly at her.

Makoto narrowed her eyes at him. "Eat your donut, or I'll eat it for you."

* * *

**A/N:** No, this has no point. No, not really. Have a pleasant day.


	25. Claim

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time._ You'd think, if I did, I would have moved onto bigger and better things by now, huh?

x: _twenty-five_

**Claim**

"I wonder what Chiaki does on the weekend. I'm pretty sure he wouldn't watch baseball all day long, right, Makoto?" Yuri cast about speculatively, the keen expression transparent on her face.

_Time waits for no one._

Makoto's eyes left the dusty chalkboard. She calmly turned around, lips parted a baby's breath wide to spill those simple, fatal words. She suddenly paused. How would she say this? How _could_ she say this? Surely, Makoto thought, Yuri had just as much right as her to be happy. Right?

"Yuri?"

"Hmm?" Those familiar eyes, friendly eyes, shifted to her obliviously. They were full of quiet anticipation, patience, and, Makoto realized with dread, admiration. Makoto pressed the thumb and forefinger of her left hand compulsively together. What did Yuri think right now? About her? Did she expect her not to have feelings?

"There's something I haven't told you."

Yuri's pupils dilated imperceptibly. Makoto surmised that Yuri knew what was coming. There wouldn't be much else she'd keep from her.

"I like Chiaki." And there it was. Yuri's lips parted in surprise. "I'm sorry, Yuri."

Yuri's mouth struggled to form words. _No, it's okay._ _I should have known. _"I see. I thought so." _I was still hoping._ "I passed Chiaki on my way up here," she supplied.

Makoto nodded determinedly, weakly. _I'm sorry._

The door slid open, then shut. Yuri watched the door after her for a long moment.

She glanced at the blackboard. _Maybe next time._

_

* * *

_

**A/N:** It's been a while, huh? Sorry; I don't think this one's all that decent. I just often forget how, in the passage of time, there are so many things that _could have_ happened. Yuri _could have_ won over Chiaki. Makoto _could have_ not been given chances to fix things. Yuri seemed like the "other girl" to me; I almost overlooked her. But I have a lot of sympathy for her, since I know what it's like to be the "other girl." And everyone deserves a happy ending. Have a happy day.


	26. Blueprints

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time_. My water bottle smells weird. That's bad, isn't it?

x: _twenty-six_

**Blueprints**

Makoto heaved a heavy basket full of fresh fruit into the private kitchen. "You're lucky, Kousuke! My grandmother had a ton of peaches left over!"

"Yeah, set them on the table!" came the muffled reply from the capacious study down the hall.

Makoto's brows creased, and she deserted the produce on Kousuke's counter. _What could he possibly be doing? He can't keep his paws off this stuff._ She tramped down the corridor and slipped past the ajar door. "Kousuke, what are you—"

Kousuke stuck his hand in the air and motioned for her to come over. Puzzled, Makoto trotted over and glanced down at the papers strewn across Kousuke's desk. "Whoa, what are these supposed to be?" Makoto inquired, picking up a sheet of paper and examining the strange numbers.

"Equations."

"Umm, what's this . . . loop thing? It looks like a race track," commented Makoto, rather daftly.

"I think I'm on to something," Kousuke muttered tersely, drawing a quick arc on the paper to another series of complicated equations.

Makoto raised a brow. "What is this for? Another wild space shuttle design for work or something?"

"Nah, pet project."

"Care to explain?" Makoto asked breezily, leaning unaffectedly on the corner of the table.

"Time-skipping."

She nearly choked on her own spit. "W-what did you say?"

"Just what I said," Kousuke replied, expression taut. "Skipping around in time."

"Uhhh," Makoto blubbered, eyes roving from corner to corner, "uhhh."

"What's with all the grunting?"

Makoto clamped her mouth shut, then opened it again. "Are you serious?"

"Should I not be?"

"Not exactly," Makoto acquiesced eventually. "Have you . . . figured it all out yet?"

Kousuke dropped the writing implement and threw himself back in his lounge chair, stretching. "Well, I just kind of don't get it. The math is working out, but . . . the design is flawed."

"What, you mean the walnut-thing?"

Kousuke gave her a weird look. "What walnut?"

"Nothing!" Makoto exclaimed, waving her hands in front of her. "I mean, you know, what do you mean, exactly?"

He rubbed at the bags beneath his eyes. "I mean, this." He tapped his pointer finger against an elaborately created drawing. "I'm just guessing, but if it did really look this, then how would anyone be able to skip from here to there?"

She traced her eyes lazily over it, reluctant to put much effort into actually understanding the convoluted image. She slammed her palms suddenly into it. "This is—!"

"What?"

She pulled the design from his desk, her eyes drawn like magnets to the sheet. She scanned the entire draft from end to end, ignoring Kousuke's protests to be careful, _highly sensitive material_—

"You would just . . ." she breathed, hardly believing the words coming from her mouth, " . . . jump from here to here, wouldn't you?"

Kousuke sent her a disbelieving look. He retrieved the sheet from her, and smoothed it out in front of him. He tapped the pencil against his temple, the gears of his mind turning. "Of course . . . the shortest distance between two points . . ."

"Eh?"

"A line. That's right. You would just skip from Point A directly to Point B." He sent graphite scratching furiously against the paper.

"In other words, you'd leap."

Kousuke shot her an agitated look from the corner of his eyes. "What's the difference?"

Makoto averted her eyes. "Oh, I think there's a huge difference." She brought her gaze back to him when he was no longer watching her. _And it's time-leaping, Kousuke.  
_

_

* * *

_

**A/N:** I don't believe Kousuke is on the verge of a breakthrough time-machine device. But I think he's clever enough to figure out some things, since he was so close to the anomaly. What I meant that they were looking at was a space that Makoto is very familiar with: clock gears, and red numbers in long black tracks. It's a pretty nifty place, huh? Well, at least, I thought so.

Sadly, I only have a handful of these pieces left in my computer, so it's likely I'll be putting those up and putting this series to rest.

Lastly, thank you for all the wonderful reviews! I love getting them, and some of you continue to amaze me by leaving a review for every single chapter! They really put a big, silly grin on my face. My only regret is that I am unable to reply to all the non-ff(dot)net users/anonymous folk that leave me little messages, but I appreciate them immensely, no doubts about that! Hopefully, the end isn't near. Have a spunky day.


	27. Slow on the Uptake

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time_. You'd be jealous if I did, wouldn't you?

x: _twenty-seven_

**Slow on the Uptake**

Makoto bit spiritedly away at her slice of watermelon, watching the summer sky leak through the windows. There was a rustle from across the table as her dad flipped the newspaper. Makoto sucked a bit of the juice slithering down her wrist and returned to shredding her watermelon to the rind.

Abruptly, her dad cleared his throat, the flimsy, gray articles shielding his face from her. There was a pause. Makoto thought nothing of it and resumed cleaning out the slice.

"So, you liked that Chiaki, huh?"

Makoto, who was gnawing on the left end of the thick, fruit shell, spluttered pink-red, black, and green pieces onto the lazy kitchen table, hardly believing her ears.

His eyes peered over the edge of the gazette. The awkward, beady eyes seemed to express commiseration. "Don't worry, Makoto," he blustered, apparently world-weary, and keen on complicated female emotions, "there will be other guys."

Her countenance twisted with acute horror. Her father was trying to lecture—console—her about romance. To her everlasting mortification, he continued on as if unaffected by the contorted shape of her face. "You're a pretty girl, Makoto. Soon, you'll have guys jumping all over you."

That was _not_ comforting.

"Of course, if you want to date any of them, they'll have to go through me first."

"Dad—" she whinnied, eyes flashing every which way in order to find an escape route.

"I never liked that Chiaki much, anyway. I heard he owed some shady characters a large sum of money."

"Dad!" objected Makoto. "That's not true!"

"Now, now, Makoto, I'm just joking." He reached over to pat her on the shoulder, the laugh lines around his eyes crinkling in kindness. "Try not to worry about it too much, sweetheart."  


* * *

**A/N:** Dads. :)

I attempted the request-like format, but no dice, so I'm revoking my original decision to take requests. I do, however, want to thank you all for the kindness and enthusiasm; it was gratifying. It's not the end of the road yet, so don't fret. Have an adventurous day!


	28. Bedroom Monster

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time._ I think I'll just stick to admiring it.

x: _twenty-eight_

**Bedroom Monster**

There was sudden lurch, nearly forcing Makoto off and over the precipice of her mattress. She spluttered audibly, and reflexively clutched her arms around the pillow. She jerked a glance over the slope of her shoulder, dark pupils dilated. "Chiaki, what are you doing?" she yelped, throwing the covers off, sitting up and pinning him with an accusatory look.

Chiaki blinked at the ceiling, appearing slightly disoriented. The tank top that he'd gone to bed with rode up on his abdomen, exposing far more skin than Makoto was used to. Registering her large oval, unguarded eyes, he sheepishly pulled it down in order to preserve a semblance of modesty and sat up. "Morning, Makoto."

At his flippant remark, Makoto appeared to recover her wits. She narrowed her eyes. "What was that?"

"What? What was what?" he countered artfully, scooting off the bottom end of the bed. He ambled off toward the door, yawning urbanely as he went.

"What was that—" Makoto's words froze on her lips. Her whole body shuddered, memorized the feel of familiar, phantom fingers tracing the freckle on the back of her gave a jagged gasp and pulled up her unflatteringly baggy sleeping shirt, staring down the length of her straightened spine to stare at the brown fleck marring otherwise unblemished skin. Chiaki theatrically raised a brow at her in concern. She returned her eyes to him, eyes lidded and suspicious.

"What's wrong?" he queried, rubbing the back of his neck with a wry frown, something he only did when incontestably guilty of something. Something bad.

Makoto's slim arm shot out. "What's that?"

Chiaki's olive eyes darted to his wrist, and, in a spectacular show of giving himself away, yanked it down to his side. Makoto leapt out of bed, practically ramming him into the wall. She wrenched his wrist away from him, staring at the imprint of numbers on the skin. Her eyes rounded, almost comically, Chiaki thought, if he weren't about to be skewered.

"What did you do?" Makoto squeaked, eyes aimed at the digits a nail's breadth from her stilled thumb.

"Nothing."

"It's one number less than yesterday!" ululated Makoto. She pierced him with a potentially withering glare. "What _happened_?"

"What are you talking about? Nothing, Makoto, nothing!" he claimed, hands raised in submission.

"What don't you want me to remember?" Makoto growled, shaking him, to no avail. "What did you do to me?"

Chiaki abruptly laughed, catching Makoto completely off-guard. He lowered his face to whisper in her ears. "We can do it again if you really want to." She jolted back from him as if electrocuted; the tender, wraith-like hand ghosting over her skin again.

She didn't like this. Not one bit. Especially not accompanying that hooded look in his eyes. "D-do what?' she stammered with spitfire eyes.

He chuckled. She pointed at the exit. "That is the first and _last_ time I share my bed with you, Chiaki. Starting tomorrow, you're getting your own apartment."

"Wait—what?" he faltered; he saw the set determination engraved on her face. "Oh, c'mon, Makoto. It was just a huge joke."

"Care to tell me what's with the time-leap you used between yesterday and today, then?" she bargained.

Chiaki folded his hands behind his head, basking in a secret pleasure. "I don't really feel like telling."

* * *

**A/N:** I'll leave you to guess what this is all about. This was way better in my head. I, ugggh, I butchered their characters. Kill me now.

Yes, I'm back briefly! Thank you all for the wonderful reviews! I wish I had more time to respond to them all. Until next time, have a renewing day.


	29. Scribbles

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time. _If I did, I'd be a terrible owner. 

x: _twenty-nine  
_

**Scribbles**

The entire museum staff noticed it. She had the silliest, most serious expression on her face when she did it. Her eyes smoldered, and normally that kind of thing only happened when she was singing solo karaoke. The grimace cemented her lips against her face, as if she would never rid of it. She held the pen so tautly that the veins in her hand would pulse against the skin above it. And the whole room would go silent.

It happened again. Majo and the other employees immediately quieted down as she marched in, her face set in that ridiculous, urgent look. She didn't speak, didn't even glance in their general direction. The notorious chestnut orbs cleaved into pristine, white stacks of paper. Electricity, they felt, crackled in the atmosphere as she drew the writing implement into her nimble digits.

_06/24/13: 16:16 pm. Top left corner restored 97%._ _-MK _

The instrument dropped from her hands, and she'd exit the room as swiftly as she came. Everyone shared glances, chuckles. Majo smiled faintly and went up to the records book, letting the many pages meet as she closed the cover. Majo traced the edge of the tome contemplatively. Makoto had looked so austere. She'd be back to her usual self during their karaoke session later that evening.

No one could read Makoto's scribbles, anyhow. But Majo knew.

The scribbles meant everything to her.

* * *

**A/N:** I had written more pieces during my TokiKake kick, and then left them in my computer to wither. Whoops. But, now, here they are, seeing the light of day! I've really missed writing. I'm still tentatively dipping my toes in, but, hopefully soon, I'll have some new writing up. Thanks for the patience and the reviews! As always, they are very much valued. Thank you for reading. Have a headache-less day!


	30. Sharing

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time. _I wish I did, sometimes. Then the following would not have had to be written. It would have just _happened._

x:_ thirty  
_

**Sharing**

Steam clung to the mirrors. Heat and water streamed from the showerhead, hitting a broad back with pale skin. A hand turned the knob, cutting off the water. Sweeping bright, shaggy hair out of his eyes, Chiaki pulled back the shower curtain, free hand reaching for the nearest towel.

_Oh, shit._ He forgot his towel.

The apartment was empty save for himself. Makoto had gone off to work hours ago. Nevertheless, he didn't feel like wandering her around her private property stark-naked to search for a befitting towel. He had enough common decency to realize she could walk in on him at any moment.

Grimacing at his ill-placed fortune, he caught sight of an innocuous, white towel hanging off the bar: Makoto's no doubt. Well, he really had no other choice. He grabbed it, wrapped it around his waist, and meandered out the bathroom.

He felt like having a sandwich.

**A/N:** This is not fanservice.I swear. (No, really.) This just so happens to be a prequel-ish scene to a companion piece in this collection. Seem familiar, anyone?


	31. Affection

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time._

x:_ thirty-one  
_

**Affection  
**

Makoto flapped the front of her shirt, trying to air out sticky skin. It was such an unbearably hot day. She scanned the streets, searching for a nice, cool place to take a reprieve from her brief venture to the grocery store. The clean texture of celery sticks grazed her skin as they poked out of the bag. It felt unreasonably heavy on such a warm day.

She slowed her pace as she passed by storefront window with a "Hiring" sign leaning against the glass. "Hey, Chiaki," she pointed, finger wavering lackadaisically in the humid air, "look at that."

Chiaki raised a burnt-orange brow, hands folded behind his head in a display of torpid laziness. "Yeah, what about it?"

"You need a job."

Chiaki took a few longer strides, easily catching up with her, and peered down at her, grinning. "Not that kind of job."

Makoto didn't even have the energy to twist her face into an appropriate expression. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I could make a lot more than that. You don't give me enough credit."

Makoto furrowed her brows and frowned pointedly. "Chiaki, I'm not sure if you've realized this, but you never graduated from high school, technically. It'll be hard to find a job that you qualify for."

Chiaki guffawed. "I'm good at math, remember? In any century, if you're good at math, you're pretty much set."

That, Makoto considered with sarcasm, was possibly the most egotistical thing she'd ever heard coming from his mouth. "Did you make a lot of money where you come from, doing math?"

He smiled secretively at her, eyes appreciative of her interest. "Of course, I did."

Makoto snorted in disbelief. She couldn't see him working a day in his life. Math? Who was he kidding? She couldn't see him punching numbers into a calculator at all. "So, you know your way around a calculator, huh?" she challenged gamely, smirking mock-smugly up at him.

"Calculators? That sounds kind of primitive, don't you think, Makoto? It's a lot easier to do number-crunching in my head."

She nearly stopped in her tracks. Was he really that smart? Shoot, she thought belatedly, he was from the future; people were probably everyday geniuses in the future.

"Yep," he sighed loudly, "I made big bucks." Makoto's pupils dilated as both of his arms descended casually around her neck, using her shoulders as supports. She registered with hazel pools the close-up angles of his appendages from mid-forearm to fingers. What was he doing? In broad daylight? What did people think? She noticed a few passerby give them both a disinterested glance before turning their attention back to their own respective activities. She continued to walk, automatically, stiffly.

She felt him lower his face to hers. "Is this okay?" he whispered into her left ear. Was it okay? Was she allowed to feel weird about it? Why _wouldn't_ she be okay with it? They were friends. (Maybe more than friends.)

She nodded, forcing down a gulp of dread and anxiety. Why was he coming on so strong? Didn't he feel even a little embarrassed? Her gait suddenly slowed to a snail crawl. She felt his arms loosen from around her shoulders. She felt his arm brush against her elbow as it traveled down, down, down to her fingertips. She inhaled sharply when she felt his fingers make contact with hers. He wordlessly laced hands with her, the ends of his extremities wrapping around to rest above her knuckles. "Is this okay?"

She had no answer. Her brain didn't seem to want to function; her mouth didn't seem to want to move. This time, more people flicked their eyes over, but only briefly before they returned to their work. She felt his cool palm against hers.

"This is okay," she answered finally, and her fingers silently wrapped around, just barely kissing his knuckles.

* * *

**A/N:** I was not and still am not quite satisfied with how this turned out. In Japan, PDA appears to be a bit rude, though that sentiment is changing somewhat. Thus, I had some misgivings about posting this one, since it doesn't seem quite fitting. Let me know what you think, if you please. Thank you for reading. Have a bright day.


	32. Pressed

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time._

x: _thirty-two_

**Pressed**

She pressed her lips to his.

Her lips were brazen, unpracticed, sweet, and trembling. He smiled and tasted the chapstick she used to wear in high school. He felt her slender fingers against the texture of his shirt; her hands felt like small fires. He was too nervous—too new to this—to touch her anywhere, just kept a brittle grip on her wrist, unwilling to let her go.

Her eyelashes draped thickly over burning hazels. She drew back with a playful jerk of the mouth. He followed, eyes lidded, enraptured by the image of her face. Their breaths mingled in the still, summer air. He was silent for a long while, then yielded his forehead to hers.

"Makoto, I think I love you."

She laughed, loud, happy, _his_, and his eyes opened.

She was not next to him. She was not in the room, or in the next room. She was still many, many years away.

He threw an arm over his eyes, full of pent-up frustration. He'd been having this dream of her for weeks.

* * *

**A/N:** These two seem like such an innocent couple that it's almost impossible for me to make them kiss or hug or anything. Almost. ;3 Unfortunately, Makoto, being a wild figment of Chiaki's imagination, turned out rather OOC. Pooh.


	33. Pink

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl who Leapt Through Time_.

x: _thirty-three_

**Pink**

Chiaki slurped up the remainder of his guava smoothie at an unabashed volume, his straw scraping the bottom of the cup. Once the container was empty, Chiaki chewed the straw curiously between his teeth, pinning his eyes at the man across from him. "Something the matter, Kousuke? You've been staring at me for the past ten minutes."

Kousuke took his time blinking back at Chiaki, an addled expression spread wide across his face. "I haven't seen you in seven years, Chiaki. And on Wednesday, I get a call from Makoto saying you're suddenly back in town." Kousuke released a slow breath through his nose. "It's just surreal."

"You looking that mature is surreal," Chiaki joked with a grin.

Kousuke's lips made a sharp, downward tilt. "I guess the years haven't changed you much."

"I don't think that's true," Chiaki replied plainly.

Kousuke watched as Chiaki's eyes wandered sinfully past him and to the figure ordering at the counter. Kousuke's features grimaced. "I don't think that's a good idea, Chiaki. Not unless you're serious this time," Kousuke warned him.

Chiaki's eyes returned to their booth, his olive-greens lowered. "I wasn't thinking last time, Kousuke."

"What are you thinking this time, then, Chiaki?" came the question, sharp and concise.

"I came back because-"

"Do you guys want some of this? It's delicious!" Makoto plopped into the seat next to Chiaki, her eyes bright and generous.

Kousuke cleared his throat, focusing attention to the matter at hand. "What is it?"

"Mango-Lemon Bomb," answered Makoto. She shook the chilled beverage indulgently at him, but her entreaty fell upon deaf ears.

Kousuke shook his head. "No, thanks."

"I'll try some." Chiaki insouciantly tilted Makoto's hand and took a sip from the same straw. Kousuke and Makoto both regarded him with widened eyes. "It's good," said Chiaki, smiling. Makoto hesitantly bent down to take a sip from her contaminated beverage, her eyes still round like plates.

"Now that we all have drinks, ready to go?" proposed Kousuke, exasperation evident in the undertones of his voice.

"Yeah," Makoto rushed to say. She jerked up out of her seat too quickly, losing her balance. Chiaki fumbled to catch her, but not before she fell back and sat right into his lap.

Makoto froze, the smoothie hanging silently in her hand. Chiaki raised both hands, fighting the impulse to prop her back on her feet—to touch her.

"S-sorry, so sorry!" she stammered, wrenching herself up using the edge of the table.

Kousuke stared mutely. They had pink written all over their faces.

* * *

**A/N:** The plot-bunnies. They attack me relentlessly.


	34. Confession

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl who Leapt Through Time._

x: _thirty-four  
_

**Confession**

_Where did I leave my cellphone?_ Makoto groused, rummaging through the clothes strewn across her bedroom floor. She slid her fingers into a jacket pocket and turned it inside-out. Her brow furrowed in disappointment; rolled up in her palm sat a sphere of lint. She tossed it into the nearby wastebasket and surveyed the small disaster that was her current bedroom situation. Makoto pursed her lips thoughtfully. _I'm pretty sure I left it in my black slacks._

She shimmied across the floor, her right hand reaching for a crumpled pile of pants at the base of her bed. She unfurled her favorite pair of work slacks, only to realize her cellphone rested elsewhere. _This is the pits! I have work in less than half an hour!_ Makoto shot up off her seat on the hardwood floor, mouth set in a grimace. She tramped out down the narrow hallway, eyes pinioned to the paneling at her feet. _Pants! _She eagerly jerked them up from the ground, when a sudden sound—akin to a coin dropping—stilled her arms in mid-air.

Makoto dropped her gaze. A tarnished, gold piece about the size of an arcade coin sat innocently at her feet. She scooped it up, rolling it curiously in her palm. _Where did I get something like this?_ It was a single button from a male's high school uniform.

"Makoto, what are you doing with my pants?"

"Huh?"

Chiaki stood at the door, groceries swinging from his hands. He pointed offhandedly at the slacks dangling upside-down from her arm. "What are you doing with my pants?"

"Trying to find my phone," Makoto mumbled imperceptibly, glancing again at the knickknack she'd recently discovered.

Chiaki placed the bags on the kitchen counter, then strolled over, snatching his bottoms back. "That's a funny way to find your phone, Makoto," he chuckled dryly. "Say, what's that in your hand?"

Makoto held it up and squinted at it. "A button."

Chiaki went unnervingly still, his face flushing a faint pink. When Makoto looked at him, he averted his eyes. "My second button." Makoto went white with shock. She didn't hear a thing as it clattered to the floor from her limp and clumsy digits. Chiaki bent down and picked it up, returning it to Makoto's palm. "It's for you," he muttered sheepishly.

Her dumbfounded stare actually disconcerted him more than her classic lack of response. "You . . . could say something, Makoto," he offered timorously.

"W-why would you give this to me?" she uttered, voice hoarse, cracked, and forced.

Chiaki rubbed the back of his neck worrisomely. "Well, why wouldn't I?" he managed.

"I don't know." Makoto's fingers curled over the button. Neither of them looked at each other. Neither of them noticed that she didn't refuse.

* * *

**A/N:** "The second button from the top of a male's uniform is often given away to a female he is in love with, and is considered a way of confession. The second button is the one closest to the heart and is said to contain the emotions from all three years attendance at the school." Wahaha, I took this from Wikipedia. It comes in handy sometimes. I figure, being the closet-romantic that he is, Chiaki would have been planning to give that away at graduation, but, of course, he never got the chance. Oh, these two. They make me melt. Thank you for reading and have an unexpectedly nice day.


	35. Taxing

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time_.

x:_ thirty-five_

**Taxing**

"Wow, you never worked this hard in high school," commented Chiaki with a complacent grin.

Makoto pierced his cheery countenance with an intolerant glare, but it only appeared to heighten his mood. He airily shut the refrigerator door, and ambled to her side, a bottle of chilled green tea in his hand. Makoto pretended to ignore his presence, frowning into the mess of papers that littered the table's surface.

"So, what is all that?" Chiaki inquired, taking a seat at her right elbow. He picked up a sheet, only to be met with strings of numbers and words he didn't quite understand.

Makoto retrieved the sheet from him, and set it back on the table. "I'm doing taxes, Chiaki," she sighed, hands clenching at short, brown tresses.

"Taxes?" exclaimed Chiaki, eyes rounded in amazement. "You mean, fees imposed by the government in return for government support? _Those _kind of taxes?"

Makoto gave him an uncomprehending stare. "What are you so excited for, Chiaki?"

He raised his brows, checking the piles of paper. "Hey, a guy can't get a little excited for history now?"

"You've _never_ done taxes?"

"Nope," responded Chiaki pleasantly. "Is there any way I can help you with it? It looks interesting."

Makoto's features contorted to display confounded disgust. "You can do it all if you want to. I hate doing taxes."

"No way! You'd let me?"

"Be my guest," remarked Makoto, relieved. "Just don't screw everything up, okay?"

* * *

Makoto took a swig of pineapple juice, watching Chiaki work over the upturned bottle. He was pretty diligent, despite having to deal with the mediocrity of taxes. He'd only asked her a few questions about it, after which the whole thing seemed to run smoothly.

He sat at her table, hunched over the paperwork, his irises a dark tourmaline by the lamplight. The apartment was very quiet without his stupid jokes and his raucous laughter. Makoto leaned against the refrigerator, cocking her head to watch him, admiring him without quite realizing it.

"Wow, you never worked this hard in high school," mocked Makoto good-naturedly.

Chiaki looked up, and smiled. Makoto's heart felt like it nearly skipped a beat. She hastily turned away. The tease completely backfired on her.

Behind her, Chiaki suddenly broke into a laugh, and the entire room felt notches warmer.

* * *

**A/N:** I actually don't know how Japanese taxes work, although I do assume it's a lot of calculations and paperwork. And why Makoto doesn't use Turbo Tax or hire someone is anyone's guess. (Doing math makes her feel closer to Chiaki, I don't know.) Thanks for reading. Have a lucky day.


	36. Two Princes

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time._

x: _thirty-six_

**Two Princes**

Yuri was bad at hiding it. She was a romantic. She had been harboring feelings for one Mamiya Chiaki, for months. There was something about him that was just so likeable, so magnetic. Granted, they didn't speak much, and Makoto was the only thing they really had in common, but she really couldn't help herself.

"Hey, Makoto, how much longer you going to take?" complained Chiaki from below the classroom.

"Then come up here and help me!" Makoto retorted, turning away from Yuri and trudging toward the open window with her broom.

"No way," groused Chiaki. "Hurry up, then!"

It was so terribly plain to her how much he liked Makoto. Yuri bit her bottom lip. She just wondered when, if ever, Makoto would let herself realize that she liked him back.

"I wonder what Chiaki's majoring in?"

"Sciences, I bet. He's terrible with kanji," deadpanned Makoto.

Yuri took in the sight of Kousuke and Chiaki waiting patiently (impatiently) outside for Makoto to join them, then drew her glance to her friend. Makoto gazed openly and unaffectedly down at them, not quite focused on classroom clean-up, not quite understanding the earnestness with which her two best friends desired her company, _hers_ alone.

"He's good at math," remonstrated Yuri softly.

"Yeah, and not much else." A pause. "Why are you bringing up Chiaki, anyway?"

Yuri felt the blood rising to her face. "I—"

"Who left the notebooks here?" issued a voice from behind the both of them.

Makoto made a face, looking all at once displeased and guiltless. "Yeah, I wonder who—"

"It's you, silly." Yuri was grateful for the interruption. She wasn't sure how she could ever lie directly to her friend's face.

Makoto grumblingly placed her broom in the closet before hoisting the stack of notebooks into her arms. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow, Yuri. You can go ahead and leave without me when you're finished."

"Alright, I'll see you tomorrow, Makoto."

Makoto disappeared behind the door. Yuri straightened, suddenly very conscious of the broom in her hand, indicating her current responsibility.

"Makoto! You still up there?" yelled Chiaki brusquely.

Yuri practically jumped out of her skin. _He's still here? _She gulped down the knot in her throat and tried to tame the flushing in her cheeks when she leaned over the window. "Sorry! Makoto has notebook duty! She'll be right out in a minute!"

Chiaki and Kousuke shared looks of astonishment. "Thanks, Hayakawa!" replied Chiaki, a mite embarrassed. They turned around and started down the path to the baseball diamond. Yuri merely nodded, then retreated to the opposite corner of the room to sweep.

She was bad at hiding it, she thought, as her heart drummed nervously and helplessly in her chest.

* * *

**A/N:** Not too fond of this one. Attempted to pick at Hayakawa's head, but I think it came out far too detached. Thanks for reading. Have a leisurely day.


	37. Question

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time._

x: _thirty-seven_

**Question**

"You like my sister, don't you?" queried Miyuki, with no expectation of an answer. She didn't need one, in any case. She was sure it was written all over his face.

"I—what?" spluttered Chiaki, the chair beneath him rocking back slightly from the force of his astonishment.

Miyuki continued to handwrite her essay, her unerring concentration and impeccable form making a mockery of her sister's. "Are you going to ask her to date you?" piped the miniature Konno, abruptly meeting his eyes.

"What makes you think I—" began Chiaki, turning an unattractive shade of pink.

Miyuki's eyes widened; her mouth dropped open a fraction. "Sorry—were you trying to be _discreet_?"

* * *

**A/N:** Two hilarious characters. One manic writer. Naturally, only chaos like this would ensue. Apologies for the brevity of this piece.

NOTE: From here on out, I'll be taking on the **50scenes challenge** (from LJ) for ChiakixMakoto, so don't be expecting updates in _Stitches_. Rather, I will be making new posts into a new story, _50 Impressions in Time_. They have the same effect; they are all brief pieces, more or less, but I just want to keep it organized, so they'll be there rather than here. When that is complete, I will return to working on _Stitches_.

I would also love it if you would be so kind as to take a gander at _50 Ways to Love a Time Traveler_, on your way out. It was the 50 themes **1sentence challenge** I took up from LJ one whimsical evening that inspired me to move onto the **50scenes challenge**. (I hate to say, I'm rather fond of it.) If you happen to have some time, let me know what you think of these new projects of mine!

Finally, thanks for reading. I really do appreciate and adore all of you for sticking with me this long. Here's to much more fun? Have a bold day!


	38. Visit

******Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time._

x: _thirty-eight_

**Visit**

It doesn't take long for her to recognize him. She approaches slowly, trying to give him some privacy, some time to take it in. It seems as if he's been standing there for a while.

She is almost beside him when he turns to face her. Ghosts of tear trails are fresh on his cheeks. It looks as if he hasn't aged a day. He doesn't recognize her. She isn't surprised. She only remembers him through half-whispered dream tales and cherished photographs.

She breaks into a smile. The corners of her eyes wrinkle and her lips stretch, emphasizing her years. He recognizes her then. The heart in his glossy green eyes seems to break in half. She's been told that when she smiles she resembles her sister.

"Miyuki," he breathes. She knows it's another name he wishes fell from his lips.

She nods, gently sinking to her knees and laying a bouquet of flowers across the grave. He helps her to back to her feet. Her back creaks. She envies his youth, but she knows he envies her time.

"Makoto would be glad you came," she tells him, placing a withered hand on his shoulder. He cries again.

* * *

**A/N: **Inspiration struck me across the face, and I knew I just had to post this in _Stitches_. Not to worry, still working on _50 Impressions in Time_. I'd also like to thank all you wonderful people for the reviews. They are lovely, every single one. I'm curious; if I began a short multi-chaptered Tokikake fic, would anyone be interested? I'm considering it.

Thank for reading! Have a transcendent day.


	39. Love in Temperance

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time._

x: _thirty-nine_

**Love in Temperance**

Chiaki loved the domestic life. Makoto, on the other hand, bemoaned the very existence of a term that typified what this was. She was no homemaker. In fact, she hadn't even been a willing fiancée. It was only after much old-fashioned courting and plenty of teppanyaki that she finally agreed to accept his embarrassingly cheesy—albeit romantic—proposal. Apparently, she recalled with a wry frown, he had plastered his eyes to a copious amount of books before he felt confident enough implement said event. Above her, the smoke detector went off. "Damn it!" cried Makoto, grabbing the nearest kitchen towel and waving it wildly below the annoyingly sensitive device. One hand twisted the knob of the stovetop back to the left. Gray smoke that had curled to the ceiling began to dissipate after several moments of vigorous arm-flapping activity.

"What's going on?"

Makoto barely spared a glance over her shoulder. "Nothing! Everything's fine!" she shouted over the high, tinny noise of the smoke detector. Finally, the perfectly functional, yet horrendously maddening, device ceased its cry. Makoto's shoulders sagged back, arm dropping heavily to her side. Chiaki quickly crossed the kitchen, pinching his nose.

"Are you okay, Makoto?" he asked, green eyes guilting her with all their worry. He moved her away from the still-sizzling pan, pulling them both toward an open window.

"I'm fine," she replied breezily. "Just burnt breakfast, that's all." She gazed petulantly at the blackened mass of food sitting in the center of the pan. Her hand remained gripped in his. She felt the warm squeeze of his fingers. She opened her mouth, closed it, and began again. "I'm terrible at this."

"I'm not going to refute that. You stink at cooking," he chuckled, leaning to kiss her. She turned, letting his lips miss hers, instead grazing her cheek. He stopped, disconcerted by her morose expression. "What's wrong? Was it what I said?" The corner of his lips dropped and the perpetual cheer in his face drooped. "Sorry."

Makoto sighed, shaking her head. She stared at their intertwined hands. "I'm awful at this living together thing, Chiaki." She waved absently at the wretched mess that blemished their otherwise impeccable kitchen. Without warning, she was jerked into a suffocating embrace. She exclaimed softly at the collision of her face against his chest.

"Don't be stupid, Makoto," he murmured into her hair. "Why would you even say stuff like that? It's perfect the way we are." Unbidden tears threatened to take a swim in her eyes. She felt far from perfect. "Take your time," he said, gently cradling her head with his hand. "You waited for me. I'll wait for you."

She sniffed loudly, trying to conceal it with a deep breath. He always knew the right thing to say. She bit her lip. "I might make you wait for a long time, Chiaki."

"That's fine," he replied, pulling back enough to kiss her cheek, trailing his lips to her nose, her lips. His caress was so tender; she wanted to bite him, wrinkle his perfect shirt in her imperfect hands, moan for something more carnal. She feared his soft, devoted affection, for all the crippling emotion it pulled from her. He understood. He had come crashing through her life again after snitching a piece six years ago and taking it to where she couldn't reach. Since his return, he'd been an unrelenting force in her life, wriggling his way back to the empty zone in her heart. But gently, so gently, she was left confused and wondering where all the lunacy and passion went. She was hoping he'd be the one to handle it. He was handling everything flawlessly. What else did she want? She loved him. She knew he loved her. So, what was it holding them back? "Chiaki?" She inhaled the crisp, autumn scent of him.

"Mm?" He seemed content with just her resting against him. But, that was it, wasn't it? He seemed content. He had always seemed that way. It was only until she pushed him a little, gave him a little incentive, that he exposed himself.

"I love you, Chiaki."

He laughed. He never tired of hearing it. "I love you, too."

"I love you," she repeated, and smashed her lips against his, running her tongue along his bottom lip until she felt them part in surprise. She grinned into him, grabbed a fistful of him and drew him close to her. This was perfect. "I want you." Chiaki's hands tightened around her waist, forming finger-shaped bruises against her skin. His breath came hot and short in her mouth. She pushed him back against the windowsill, straddling him. He half-sat, eyes dark and flared in shock and amazement. His reaction was exhilarating. She nibbled his swollen lips.

"Makoto—" he began, with extreme difficulty.

"Breakfast can wait," she chastised him. "We have all the time in the world." She threaded her fingers into his hair, eyelashes casting a shadow against her sun-kissed cheeks. His walls of perfect conduct came crumbling down, and it utterly thrilled her to watch it.

"I've been waiting," he whispered, throaty and rough. He adjusted her atop his lap, leaned forward, and, finally, began to kiss her senseless.

* * *

**A/N: **Not what you were expecting? Not what I was expecting, either. I began with the a certain idea in mind, but it quickly spiraled out of control. The idea of domestic life, what's integral to it, and what views the two would have on it. Clearly, my head had other ideas. Since I actually feel capricious enough to post this immediately post-write, I figure I'll label it as an experimental piece. I don't think consider even this close to being my best, or even, decent, work, but I'll let you be the judge. When, if, I come back to this and find it unsatisfactory, I'll probably take it down. Considering my recent writings, there may have been a Yuffentine influence on this, actually. So tired; have a huge, repulsive test tomorrow. I'll stop talking at you now.

Thank you for reading. Comments/critique welcomed. Have a perfect day.


	40. Red Shoestrings

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time._

x_: forty_

**Red Shoestrings**

The jeers came at him relentlessly. It was all because of his stupid accent. They thought they could treat him like trash simply because he could hardly read, hardly speak their language; because he had strange hair; because he couldn't ride a _bicycle_. He glared at them from behind his swollen eyelid. Another swing came at him, knocking his cheek and causing splinters of pain to erupt in his brain. He wasn't going to give them the pleasure of hearing him speak. Beady eyes burned with malice and the red, raw fist reared up again into his field of vision. He braced himself.

"Cut it out!" snapped a voice. The hit never came. Chiaki turned one good eye to the speaker. His shoulders sagged with resignation. It was a girl. The assailant stepped back from him, instead stepping forward with a cocky quirk of the lips. The two behind him followed suit. Chiaki grit his teeth. He would never let them hit a girl.

"What are you going to do about it, Konno?"

Her frown deepened, shifting the baseball to her left shoulder. Chiaki almost wanted to laugh. If she thought she was in any way intimidating with that makeshift weapon, she was terribly, terribly wrong. She looked about as dangerous as a pinwheel.

The aggressors seemed to think the same thing. "Going to give us three strikes, Konno?"

She rolled her eyes, painfully unimpressed. "Seriously, stop," she said, words cold and biting, "or I'll hit you with my shoe." Chiaki anticipated getting another dozen beatings just because of that sentence alone.

"You'll what?" squawked the trio, amusement clear on their faces.

"My shoe—your face. I'll really do it, you know." She shifted all her weight to one foot and reached down to pry a harmless, floppy shoe off.

"Try us, Konno."

She pulled her arm back, about to launch the pathetic projectile when the three of them grew expressions of horror and retreated in the other direction. Chiaki released a sigh he hadn't realized he had been holding. "Works every time," chirped the girl triumphantly, relaxing her throwing arm.

"What kind of trouble are you getting into this time, Makoto?" queried the tall boy behind her, a baseball bat propped on his shoulder. Chiaki had to admit; it looked about fifty times more terrifying on that guy.

"Oh, hey, Kousuke," she greeted him, dropping her shoe to the dust and squeezing her foot back into it. "Didn't see you there." Her expression had lightened considerably since the departure of the goons.

The guy—Kousuke—glanced unaffectedly at Chiaki, who stood tensely against the back of the school wall. Chiaki was no stranger to the curious, appraising look he got from him. He stared defiantly back, daring him to say something about it.

"Hey, are you okay?" asked the girl—Makoto, approaching him, brown eyes filmed over with concern. Her hand ghosted up to his face, but dropped away before touching him. Good, he didn't want her touching him, anyway. She glanced in the direction his bullies had fled, a frown tugging at her expression. "Why didn't you speak up?" she asked him, direct and brusque. "You just let them hit you."

Chiaki's eyes darted to the ground, a surly curl to his lips.

"Next time, threaten them with your shoe. It seriously works." He couldn't help it. His mouth curved, but he quickly hid it by ducking his head. He almost wanted to laugh at the certainty in her declaration. She ducked too, peering directly into his face. "What? You think it's funny?" She looked indignant. "I'm not joking! Shoes work! Hey, stop laughing!" Chiaki had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop the unbidden laughter that rose out of his throat. Kousuke cast a surveying glance around the schoolyard before fixing him with a curious look.

"Sorry," Chiaki mumbled quickly, hoping his accent stayed discreet.

She reached a finger to tap the bruised side of his face. Chiaki went rigid at the touch. She pretended not to notice. "He split your cheek. It'll get infected if you don't get it treated right away," she said. Chiaki shook his head, hoping she would just take her ridiculous shoes and leave him alone. "You think everyone in class wants to look at your ugly, infected mug all day?" Was she in his class? He could hardly recall; he didn't pay attention to anyone in class. She snorted, and turned to get Kousuke's attention. "Hey, Kousuke, can we stop by to see your dad on the way home? No way am I letting this guy put me through visual torture for the rest of the year."

"Sure, we can," responded Kousuke with a disinterested shrug.

Makoto turned back to Chiaki. "I sit right next to you in homeroom. Be a little considerate, why don't you?" She looked about half-way to laughter.

"Sorry, I didn't notice," he muttered tersely.

"Kousuke over there sits right in front of you. If anything, it's him you should be apologizing to." She grinned—and, from her, it looked so genuine and real that Chiaki felt the sudden urge to paint it on canvas. "You're Mamiya Chiaki, right?" He nodded. "I'm Makoto. You don't talk much, do you? Are you shy?"

"I'm not that great of a conversationalist." He hated the way his words sounded out of his mouth, all garbled, hesitant and wrong. The pair didn't seem to notice.

"Well, don't you worry," interjected Kousuke, "Makoto here has a mouth big enough to run for the three of us."

Chiaki shot Kousuke an appreciative glance. "Thanks."

Makoto's face scrunched up. "Don't thank him for insulting me!" Kousuke planted his hand atop Makoto's head and began to muss her short hair. Chiaki eyed the gesture meaningfully. She swatted impatiently at the offending object.

"I was thanking both of you."

Makoto's eyes brightened and she beamed at him. "Okay, that's good progress. Once you get your face fixed up, I'll forgive you all the way."

Chiaki tried to smother his chuckle. "I'm not that ugly, am I?"

"Well, I don't know, I think you're growing on me," confessed Makoto airily. "I like you better when you're talking."

* * *

**A/N: **I feel like I'm in a bit of a writing slump. Lately, whatever I write seems somehow disjointed or otherwise out-of-character. I would chalk it up to academic distractions, but it might also be that, though I _want_ to write, I may not be in the proper set of mind. Disregarding all that nonsense, I want to especially thank **Angelicatt**, **Nayuki bunny-chan**, and **LycheeTea**. Your reviews for the the last chapter were encouraging and sweet, just when I needed it. To my regular reviewers (you know who you are), I just want to say: _Thank you, thank you, thank you._ Your words, or even the shortest of sentences, keep me going. And to the regular, or irregular, readers (anyone reading this, really), just know that I adore you for taking the time to read any of my gibberish.

So, this chapter, as poor as it may be, is dedicated to _you_.


	41. Falling

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time._

x: _forty-one_

**Falling**

She's so tired of this. She's sick of what it's turning into. Leaping simply isn't all it's cracked up to be anymore. She used to think it was all about getting to school on time, acing those pesky pop quizzes, and saving the last bit of pudding for herself. She realizes how cursed this ability of hers is when Yuri's little white lie unfurls itself in her face. Makoto watches with impaired confusion as Yuri's precious paper bag lands into Chiaki's waiting hands. It should be nothing. Really, it's only two of her friends having lunch together: one who liked her, and one who lied to her. It tears at small, imperceptible cracks she hadn't known existed.

And finally, the fall several today's ago begins to take its toll. She feels the weightless sensation in her stomach, and the world tilts first in slow-motion, before she's smashed ruthlessly to the laboratory floor, stunned and disoriented—_hurt_. And this fall hurt beyond belief.

For a moment, her mind whirls, searching for brilliant, time-proof solutions, like leaping to last week, or marching up to them and asking to join them for lunch. But every scenario ends the same—she's pathetic for believing otherwise.

"Really?"

"Someone needs to tell the principal!"

Makoto's world returns to normal speed, and she breaks her gaze to follow the stream of students murmuring and fussing toward the school's main courtyard. She mindlessly follows, like sheep to the slaughter. She hears the eerie hiss of the fire extinguisher before she sees it, and it breaks her heart to see Takase's the one handling it. He looks as pathetic as she feels, standing there with soppy pieces of food in his hair and on his shoulders, face red from humiliation and injustice. Makoto shoulders the taller students out of the way. "Stop, Takase! Stop it!"

She gets her wish. The onslaught stops, but he looks her directly in the eyes, and her resolve shrivels to nothing beneath the withering blame that she knows is hers. "Konno, it was your fault! It was you!" he shrieks, inhuman but for all the pain in his voice. He aims the fire extinguisher at her, forcing her to flinch and raise her arms protectively, but moments later, she hears an empty splutter and a raw curse. "Damn it! Why? Damn it!"

The school-wide whispers escalate in volume. Their horror and disbelief envelopes her she processes the image of Takase heaving the fire extinguisher over his head. She backs up, eyes frozen on the dangerous bludgeon. The word "stop" starts and starts but never finishes making it out of her mouth.

"Takase!" cries a voice that reaches her like none of the others. It's Chiaki's. But it's too late. Takase's anger and rage goes hurtling out of his hands, revolving in the air as it moves closer and closer to her already-fragile body. She remains transfixed at the sight of it, the crushing weight of it, and it fixes her feet to the floor. Her arms lift automatically.

"Makoto!" screams Chiaki from somewhere behind her. It's so ironic that she still manages to ruin Chiaki's lunch date with Yuri without even meaning to. She just so tired of this. A crack so loud it whips like wind in her ears, and she's pelted straight off her feet, to the ground. Everything flashes violently vibrant for one second, then whirlpools to black. Makoto's body lies sprawled, limp and bleeding, across the hallway. The extinguisher rolls off with an empty, metallic ring before the wall stops it in its tracks.

The full weight of the attack hits Takase first. He goes as still and silent as the figure lying on the floor. The courtyard erupts with screams. Chiaki drops heavily to his knees, the expression and blood all but drained from his face. "Makoto!" He squeezes her by the arm, willing her to wake up, to spring back to life and announce that it was all a huge joke. There's a gash on her skull that bleeds so very red along the ground, and he's never been so terrified of watching someone bleed before.

"Move aside, move aside!" commands the nurse, who appears moments later. Chiaki feels himself being yanked back by the shoulders, and he resists, desperately screaming a three-syllable word that goes unanswered.

"Calm down, calm down," repeats an urgent, equally terrified voice.

Chiaki jerks himself out of Kousuke's grip. "Let me go!"

"Chiaki, calm down!" snaps Kousuke, voice rising when it otherwise would have been unflappable. Chiaki whirls to face him, and sees that Kousuke's expression mirrors his own. He tears his eyes away from the same look of helplessness he himself feels, back to the prone form bleeding out behind them.

"Shit!" he cries furiously, tears leaping to his eyes. "Makoto!"

"There's nothing you could have done," Kousuke reminds him solemnly. "They'll take care of her. She'll be alright." His voice cracks on the last word, and he only succeeds in sounding feeble. Chiaki feels himself nodding. He stops. Because Kousuke's wrong. There was something he could do. There _is_ something he can still do. He pulls the blue wrist band up on his left arm. Kousuke stares at the silver numbers in his skin. "What—" Kousuke never gets to finish, because by the time he looks up, Chiaki is gone.

* * *

**A/N: **I was looking for something to out-noise the pervasive and all-inhibiting sound of snoring, and meandered right into the waiting arms of a very well-done _Girl Who Leapt Through Time_ AMV. The extinguisher scene in that AMV inspired this piece. I encourage you all to take a look. There aren't very many well-contrived AMVs for my absolute favorite movie, so I can get fairly excited when I find one. Find it here: www(dot)youtube(dot)com/watch?v=TS6t6T5-M7Q

And maybe it's just me, but I feel like the style and tone of this piece came more naturally to me, closer to my original style than the last few. Any thoughts? Thanks again for all your loveliness. And **Beef Jerky**, if you are reading this, "YOU DA BEST," too. Your review made me crack an honest laugh and it really cheered me up.

P.S. Shameless me, but if anyone has AMV-making experience, any at all, I would love you forever if you made one for my favorite movie/pair. Or even pointed me in the direction of some well-made ones. Seriously. I'm talking love to infinity. Anyway, I'll stop being greedy now, and let you all go. Have an inspired day.


	42. Speaking of the Weather

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time_.

x: _forty-two_

**Speaking of the Weather**

"It's so hot!" complains Makoto, sweat beading down her face as she enters the classroom.

Chiaki shoots her a grin. "Ha! I got here before you! You owe me a lunch!"

Makoto frowns, but doesn't have the energy to contest the results of their juvenile bet. "Hate this weather," she grumbles instead, as if the heat is to blame for her perpetual tardiness. She drops unceremoniously into her seat, staring into the spotless chalkboard. A beat passes before her fingers pluck at her white shirt, airing the skin beneath.

Chiaki hides the bottom half of his face below an astronomy magazine. Eyebrows sail up his face as eyes sail up the expanse of her top. He's forced to gulp when she suddenly arches her back, exposing precious neck and skin.

"You're not wearing your ribbon," remarks Kousuke casually, looking across his desk at Makoto. Chiaki straightens, in part to detract from the dumb look on his face, in part because the same exact thought occurred to him, too, _at the same time_. He doesn't like that they're both staring and thinking the same thing. Actually, he just doesn't like the idea of Kousuke staring. Chiaki's leg gives an involuntary jerk as the fleeting impulse to kick Kousuke races through his head.

Makoto gives Kousuke a deadpan look, fingers ghosting over the absence of red fabric. "Way too hot for that thing."

"It suits you," interjects Chiaki brightly. A little dip appears on Kousuke's forehead. Chiaki knows it's childish, but, somehow, all he can think is _triumph_. Makoto gives Chiaki the same lazy, deadpan stare. Something in his head must be twisted, he thinks, because, to him, it smolders. He wouldn't mind one bit if she looked that way at him all the time, really. The door slides open, and Makoto shifts, skirt riding up her thigh. Chiaki, who was never much of a sweater, feels a bead of perspiration slink down his forehead. His throat feels dry and parched, and he wouldn't mind having a drink of water—or watching _her_ having a drink of water.

"I can't wait for autumn to roll around," groans Makoto. "This is the pits." Her eyelashes flutter closed, and her lips, unnaturally red, pucker from want of a beverage.

Chiaki quietly disagrees. He rather enjoys the warm weather. Hiding a simper, he reaches into his bag for a water bottle. "Thirsty, Makoto?"

* * *

**A/N:** Points for oblivious!Makoto. Love that darling. I'm on a roll, right now! Thank you all for dropping me those lovely links to AMVs. I watched them all, and, consequently, adored them all. A number of them inspired me to write half a dozen little snippets that I will post in the coming days or weeks; though I can't say I exactly have the time to be leisurely, since I _should_ be studying for exams. ACK. Please forgive me if it takes a little bit of time for me to respond to reviews. I might be one of those post-and-run's people, for a spell. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoyed. Comments/critique welcomed. Thank you for reading. Have a pleasantly warm day!


	43. If You Remember

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time_.

x: _forty-three_

**If You Remember**

Somehow, nothing surprises her anymore. She gives the poor supplicant a deadpan stare as he stammers his case.

"So, Konno," he frets with the collar of his shirt nervously, "I started to notice—"

"Listen, can you make this quick?" she interjects, casting an impatient glance over her shoulder. "I'm a little pressed for time." The irony of that statement is almost enough to make her laugh, but she doesn't because it isn't the appropriate time. "Who are you again?"

"Mochizuki Hikaru," he repeats. "I'm on the school swim team." She produces an "ah" and lets him continue. "I can't really explain it, but you made a huge impression on me today." Makoto's expression tangles into utter mystification. She barely knows this guy; they don't have any classes together, and she hasn't even gone _near_ the swimming pool—shit. Yes, she did. Her last leap was off of their soaring tower of a diving board, and, if their gasps and yells were any indication, she had made quite a scene. Probably because that stunt had required the flashing of her panties. Saving her future occasionally called for the sacrifice of her womanly dignity, and that was fine, since they wouldn't even remember it.

But, as Makoto watches Mochizuki's mouth move, she realizes that he has, in fact, remembered some inkling, recovered some kind of feeling, from watching her leap before. Did that mean—oh, no way. She remembers making the same "impression" on the Kendo and Cooking club, too, to name a few. Makoto's foot taps anxiously, involuntarily. Perhaps, she should stick to just leaping in inconspicuous school corners, and perhaps, not yelling would be a good idea? Damn. She will have to deal with all these remnants later, because she has somewhere, someplace to be _right _now. Her attention drifts back to Mochizuki, just in time for her to be struck by exactly what he is about to say, right before he says it.

Her pupils dilate in anticipatory horror, as the words tumble out of his mouth. "Would you like to go out with me?" It's not that he's not good-looking, or that she doesn't dig the swimmer-thing—in fact, sporty types are actually rather attractive—but it's that she _can't._ She has to get Kaho on Kousuke's radar, has to keep Yuri from—from—

Chiaki.

She blinks, as if the idea is completely, irrationally new to her, but it's not. It's been there, but it's just that she's never been confronted with the need, or even desire, to keep Chiaki to herself, because he was always there.

Mochizuki gazes at her hopefully. "Konno? I know this is sudden. It was sudden for me, too, but I'm not the kind of guy who waits around, so I figured it would just be best to tell you now. If you're not ready to give me an answer, I can give you some time to think about it."

"No," blurts Makoto, "I can give you an answer now." He waits expectantly, hopeful and clueless. "It's a no. I'm sorry, but I already like someone else." Her face contorts in a mixture of disgust and disbelief. "This particular idiot I like—well, I like him a lot, so I can't accept your offer. Sorry." Mochizuki stares at her with that dumbfounded expression she's sure is, by now, a trademark of hers. "It's Chiaki—Mamiya Chiaki," she explains, adding legitimacy to her excuse. "He's an absolute moron, but I really like him and I can't like anyone else. I'm sorry, Mochizuki." Her last bit is completely unnecessary, but it feels so _good_ to say—and it's not like he'll even remember this oddball confession once she's thrown herself off the bleachers in her next stunt.

"You—_what_?"

Makoto's wonderful little world goes screeching to a blood-stopping halt. She spins around abruptly, eyes going wide at the figure standing at the corner with a bag of grapes in his hand. She jerks her gaze from Mochizuki to Chiaki, and back, and again. Crap. _Crap. Crap!_

"You didn't hear anything," blubbers Makoto, arms raised in a defensive maneuver.

"I heard everything," he contests, staring at her in incredulity. After a beat, he asks: "You like me?" Then, his eyebrows knit in consternation. "And you think I'm a moron?"

Luckily for Makoto, it is not one of those heartrending moments wherein her affections rest on the wayward emotions of her romantic interest—because she already knows he likes her. He just isn't supposed to know _she_ likes him back. At least, not right now, because she still has to do that thing with Kaho and—

She yanks him forcefully into a secluded corner, throwing an apologetic glance over her shoulder at the spurned swimmer, and glares up at him with her chin thrust out in defiance. "That's not fair," she begins nervously. "You liked me first."

His eyes go wide, suddenly looking quite meek and taken aback. "I thought you hadn't noticed. I mean, you were a bit dense." She tries to look somewhat offended, but she can't fully muster it at the moment. She remembers she has to hold her tongue on _how_ exactly she knows this, because she can't very well tell him that she has the ability to leap through time. That would scare him off, since her personality has not seemed to do the job.

"So, was that a confession, then?" He clears his throat, far more cheerfully than makes her feel comfortable.

"I guess," splutters Makoto, flabbergasted.

He grins. "So, when are you going to ask me out on a date, Makoto?"

She frowns at him. Where did all that cockiness come from? He had been all sweaty and nervous during the bike ride, and now he was acting like he won the lottery! "You're infuriating," she states.

"I am, huh?" He continues to sound like a million bucks. "But you like me, anyway." She notes that he quite enjoys repeating that simple, damning fact, just in other words. "Want a grape?" He proffers the bag of small purple fruit. She's relieved by the semblance of normalcy and eagerly reaches for one. He retracts the bag, grinning. "Aren't you going to ask me out first?"

Makoto catches sight of Kaho in her peripheral vision, and she remembers there's still something she has to do. She gulps, because she realizes that this conversation will not have ever existed in about thirty seconds. "Chiaki," she blurts wearily, "I want to go out with you. No matter what happens, okay? But I have to go do something right now." She plucks a grape from his bag, stuffs it into her mouth, and sprints over the stairs and into the air, tumbling straight into the grassy field between a perplexed Kousuke and a mortified Kaho. She beams brightly at the pair, feeling supremely optimistic at the prospects of the future.

She's naïve for thinking she'll have the opportunity to confess to him again.

* * *

**A/N:** Finally, most (not all, but most) of my midterms are through. I will try to get to replying this weekend! This piece was written extremely spur-of-the-moment, when I saw a clip of Makoto leaping off that insanely high diving board and all the swimmers gaping at her. Seriously, that Makoto wasn't mauled by guys over those few "days" for all that crazy, is beyond me. I was aiming to get her urgent, mission-oriented mindset across somewhat, but I have my qualms about whether or not she just ended up sounding juvenile and unsophisticated. Anyway, it's late, and I have to get up early. Comments and critique welcomed. Thank you for reading.


	44. Invitation

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Girl who Leapt Through Time._

x: _forty-four_

**Invitation**

He packed his bags a week in advance. He had been both anticipating and dreading the arrival of next Thursday for some time now. It was the day the painting would be put back in the exhibit. It was also the day he would have to leave. Everything of value, even the most trivial of knickknacks, disappeared from their places on his desk, around his room. His cellphone buzzed to life on his desk. He reached over to answer it.

"Chiaki!" chirped Makoto's bright voice. "We're all going to a night game this weekend! Kousuke already got us the tickets!"

"Yeah, sounds great!" he replied. His eyes flickered remorsefully to the ready and waiting bag on his bed.

"Anyway, I just called to tell you." She paused, as if on the verge of saying something else, then gave a small, imperceptible inhale, as if drawing the half-formed words back. "See you tomorrow!" Then, the line went dead. He returned his cellphone to the desk, letting himself slump against the back of the chair. He gave the device a long, hollow look. Finally, Chiaki buried his head in his hands.

He would miss her voice the most.

* * *

**A/N:** Short piece. Scraps from my 50scenes project that didn't make the cut. You know, all I wanted was a happy ending for the two of them. That's how this project came about. I'm so thankful that you all came along for the ride. Comments and critique welcomed. Thank you for reading. Have a nostalgic day.


	45. The Other Way

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Girl who Leapt through Time._

x: _forty-five_

**The Other Way**

Makoto just wanted them all to _shut up_ already. She had been up all night and all morning, guzzling her mother's various draughts of tea and coffee, in order to slay her beast of a paper. Then, her printer had the guts to malfunction this morning so she biked all the way to Kousuke's house on the other end of town, arriving at his doorstep at 5:45 a.m. with all the appearance of an unkempt banshee. Unsurprisingly, he had finished the paper several days prior and had just sat down for a breakfast when she called on him. "Want to join me for breakfast?" he had asked. She had cursed him for his inappropriate nerd-hood.

She had chucked the paper on her instructor's desk before disintegrating into her usual seat in the front of class, her throbbing skull slinking down to meet her very welcoming forearms. Yuri and Kousuke remained quiet, for her sake, but it seemed the rest of the class felt the urge to be repulsively rambunctious today, of all days. In retrospect, she usually joined in as one of the most obnoxiously loud of the bunch, but today was just not one of those days.

"Class!" announced the instructor, his booming voice thundering against her cranial nerves. "Quiet down! Hey, settle down!"

Makoto's eyes bulged beneath her lids, out of a desperate desire to sob. It was already so loud. Need he make it worse?

"CAN IT, NIMRODS," he bellowed finally, and the prompt clamping of mouths began. Makoto both cursed and thanked him for his terribly saintly arrival. "I have an announcement to make." There was a pause as he surveyed facetiously obedient students. "Konno, look alive here," he snapped gruffly. Bleary, brown eyes heaved with great effort upwards to face the front of the classroom. To her merit, even he gave a small cough of pity at the sorry state of her black-ringed eyes. Without further ceremony, he gestured to the tall student standing next to him. "Please welcome your newest classmate, Mamiya Chiaki. He's a transfer student." He was tall, taller than Kousuke if she eyeballed it correctly. With a curt nod, he took the empty student behind Kousuke, ignoring all the curious pairs of eyes to stare instead out of the window.

Makoto, under normal circumstances, would have introduced herself and offered her—admittedly lackluster—academic services if he required them, seeing as he missed the first few weeks of school, but she only mustered a banal smile in his general direction before drooping into the cover of her arms. He ignored her, too, but she really didn't have the energy to care or act offended.

"Pop quiz!"

Makoto squeezed a look of pure hatred out of the exhausted husk of her body and aimed it directly at her sadistic instructor. "You're kidding," she deadpanned. He cheekily waved a stack of papers in his hand in response. Groans echoed across the room.

Makoto rubbed at her eyes as she examined the sheet on her desk. Leaning over, she reached practiced fingers into her book bag to grab a pencil, only to find she hadn't any. Alarmed, she hoisted the bag to her lap and began furiously rummaging through it. Damn it! She had left all her things at home. Her teacher's suspicious eyes roved to her desk. Her fingers went lax, and she placed it back on the floor. After staring at the blank chalkboard for a moment, she promptly beat her forehead surreptitiously against the desk.

Makoto finally resigned herself to asking for a pencil. Her instructor never had any on hand, given that he felt his students should have been prepared for everything, and Kousuke turned into a _machine_ when it came to test-taking. There was no other choice. She would have to ask the person behind her—who gave her a solemn shake of the head; okay, that was fine, she would just ask the transfer student. "Do you have a pencil I can borrow?" she mouthed at him, her lips stretched to exaggerate the syllables.

His eyebrows drew together in confusion. "Pencil," she repeated in an urgent whisper. She pointed to the pencil case at his elbow and drew her fingers out in the rough estimation of the length of the utensil, but it only served to confuse him more. He frowned at her as if she were speaking an entirely different language. Was he serious? She just needed a pencil! "This," she enunciated in a low voice as she leaned across the space between their desks and plucked a pencil from his open case.

"Konno!" blasted their instructor. She really wished he wouldn't do that. Her ears were just starting to stop ringing. "What are you doing? Cheating?"

She raised the pencil in the air as if to demonstrate the extraction of Excalibur from its stone prison. "I was just borrowing a pencil!" she declared. Everyone's eyes went from her to the transfer and back. Finally, they collectively returned to their exams. She breathed a sigh of relief as the doubt in her teacher's eyes faded away, and he waved a hand dismissively to allow her to finish her test. She retreated to her desk and silently answered the questions, apprehensive of another verbal wallop if she so much as opened her mouth to thank the silent (stupid) transfer boy.

After they handed in their tests, she returned the pencil to its rightful owner. "Thanks," said Makoto, "for letting me borrow it. Sorry for the trouble." He shrugged and dropped it dispassionately into the pencil case. "I'm Konno Makoto, by the way," she offered, morbidly curious as to the nature of his missing voice. When he didn't return her remark with his own name, she stared as if mesmerized by the floor. "I guess I already know your name, seeing as you were introduced to the class today." He watched her expressionlessly. Makoto felt her next words dying on her lips. He certainly didn't give off the impression that he was open to making friends. She grinned uneasily and inched back to her desk, filching glances every now and then to see if he possessed any other expression than the defensive one lodged on his face.

"What do you think about the new guy?" she asked Kousuke on their walk home.

Kousuke glanced at her. "Mamiya? He seems quiet."

"I would be, too, if I were a new student," conceded Makoto.

"He might need some time to get adjusted," agreed Kousuke.

"Did you see the color of his hair? It's different, isn't it?"

Kousuke shrugged. "Yeah, I guess it is. Maybe he dyed it."

"I don't think so," replied Makoto. She thought it was rather interesting, and, in light of his introverted temperament, she simply couldn't see him choosing to grab attention with a stunt like that. "Can I hang out at your house for a little bit? I'm going to need help with math homework," she admitted shamelessly.

Kousuke grinned patronizingly. "Sure, dummy."

Makoto pursed her lips. "Not everyone can be a geek, Kousuke."

"Ha, ha," he retorted sarcastically, "funny, Makoto." They turned into a bend in the road and happened upon a familiar-looking figure, staring intently at a map in the middle of the street. Kousuke and Makoto exchanged glances.

Finally, Makoto cried out to him to get his attention. "Hey, need some help?"

The transfer looked up, cheeks coloring as he hastily stuffed the map into his back pocket. He shook his head. "I'm fine," he said, surprising her with the unexpected normalcy of his voice. It sounded like it should have been more playful than it was, and she barely caught the hesitant edges of an accent lacing his words.

"What street are you looking for?" she persisted, striding up hopefully. He grimaced, not at her, but more at the situation. Instead of answering, he pulled out a slip of paper and handed it to her. She peered down at it. It was written in an odd, disjointed style that almost didn't resemble Japanese, but, taking a second look, she deciphered its contents. "You're going the wrong way," she revealed, curbing her laughter, since he seemed to err on the side of sensitivity. She pointed in the direction the pair of them had just come from. "You want to keep going that way until you pass the third bridge on the river. You'll see the street on your right. I live down that way, actually. I can show you, if you want."

"Thanks," he cut her off, retrieving the slip, "but I got it." He brushed by her and started down the path. She stared after him, feeling marginally slighted. Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks and turned around. Bowing awkwardly, he told her: "Thanks. Sorry for the trouble." A flicker of a smile teased his lips before it disappeared and he resumed his walk.

"Seems really out of place, doesn't he?" observed Kousuke with a raise of an eyebrow.

"He'll get used to it," responded Makoto optimistically. "Let's go, Kousuke. I have some math homework to pulverize."

"You mean, whine about?" joked Kousuke. She refrained from kicking the shin of her future math tutor and instead settled for snorting indignantly. With a bounce in her step, she started off, suddenly eager to get have it all finished tonight, so that when tomorrow, came, she would be able to walk the other way.

* * *

**A/N:** It's been a while. I told myself I wouldn't update until school was over, but school has been, frankly, exhausting. I needed some kind of outlet. I didn't like it too much when I first wrote it, but I'm less critical of it at the moment. Comments/critique would be extremely welcome!

Also, on an unrelated note, to anyone who has read _The Hunger Games_ (just the first installment is fine), I am open to getting a beta for a _Hunger Games_ story. If you are interested, or know someone who is, please PM me. Thank you for reading. Have a stress-free day!


	46. Dynamic Inconsistency

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time._

x_: forty-six_

**Dynamic Inconsistency **

Chiaki weaved, disoriented by his first leap. Fighting back the swell of nausea, his green eyes darted quickly from side to side to ascertain where and when he had landed. Fear gripped him, clutching his lungs and refusing to release its hold. He wasn't in the museum. He reached an arm out to steady himself, and a red can of ravioli tumbled off the shelf and rolled to his feet. He snatched it up, remembering to date himself. The print on the tin-coated steel gleamed dimly at him. He blinked rapidly at the digits. He was at least ten years away from the correct time, if this product's expiration date was any indication.

Chiaki shoved the can back into the shelf, finally deigning to look up. Two colorful rows of preserved food products lined up on either side of him. A fresh meat's section stared at him from the north end, and on the south sat a number of—he couldn't remember the name—registers? He was almost positive he had landed himself in a grocery store, ten years off. He gave an inward curse, only too glad to have had enough control to show up in an empty aisle. Were his clothes outdated? He jerked a glance down, panicked. T-shirts and denim jeans were still extant in this decade, right? Rubbing sweaty palms over the rough blue material, he took a gulp of air. He was fine. It wasn't the worst calibration in history. Some people landed centuries away from where they intended to go their first try. A decade wasn't bad. In this era, people would only dismiss his fashion faux pas as a retro blunder.

First, he needed to find the exact date and time. It wouldn't do to ask someone. Since this was a grocery store from early in the second millennium, he would simply leave the store and locate a public map, those ones intended for tourists. Chiaki still mentally reeled at the idea of tourism, that there were enough people to create such an industry.

Once he determined time and location, he would leap forward to his time, and re-calculate; then come back, better prepared and, hopefully, at least in the correct year. He heard wheels squeaking across the tiling from behind him and froze. It was the sound of a grocery store shopping cart. Someone was turning the corner. He wasn't ready for this! He hadn't meant to come into contact with these people yet, especially not on his first, survey leap. He kept his head ducked, letting his shaggy bright hair run adrift over his eyes as he desperately examined a can of pickled anchovies sitting below eye-level.

The wheels continued to squeak toward him, and, curious, he peeked to the side enough to glimpse a pair of sneakers attached to two long, lean, very-female legs. He quickly jerked his gaze back to the decidedly unimpressive can of anchovies. There weren't very many girls where he came from. He heard girls from this era were fairly attractive, but he wasn't going to let himself get ideas. He was only doing this for the painting. The pair of legs kept coming. _For the painting._ Nice legs.

"Chiaki!" His pupils dilated in bewilderment. That was the twenty-first century Japanized version of his name. No, maybe it was also an exclamation of some sort from this time period, like "Fie!" and "Marry!" were from others. After all, no one knew him here. "Chiaki!" There it was again. "Hey!" He stole another glance, only to realize the pair of legs had begun a dead-on sprint, spinning the wheels of the cart dangerously forward—right at him. _What was going on?_ Was he invisible? Was this a game people played in grocery stores?

He braced for the impact, and was met with a solid, but harmless, bump in the rear with the butt of the shopping cart. He whirled to face his assailant, offended and mortified. The second their eyes met, her mouth split into a wide grin and then—abruptly—laughter bellowed forth, obnoxious and definitely not what he was expecting girls from this soft era to sound like. She was sporting a t-shirt and shorts, with duck-billed hat on her head that concealed most of the choppy brown locks beneath it. He continued to glare at her, hoping his affronted expression would convey that her actions were not welcome. Why were people in this era so rude and crazy?

Slowly, the cackles subsided and she fixed him with an affectionate look. Her mouth twisted into an ironic-looking smile. "What? That's what you get for ditching me in the cereal aisle, Chiaki." He paled, hands clamped tightly at his sides. She _knew_ him. How? He'd never—this was his first leap! Was she a time traveler, too? A crease appeared between his brows as he examined her. She looked to be in her late twenties: tan, brown eyes, a mouth made for smiling, long legs, and big feet—at least for a girl, he reckoned. Of this much he was certain: he'd never met her before.

"Sorry," he began tersely, hoping his pathetic accent didn't come through too bad. "You made a mistake." Confusion on a face like hers was comical. She looked to be about a second away from blowing up with that insufferable laughter again. Warning bells went off in his head. He had to stop talking to this woman immediately and make a low-key exit before he what he said and did tipped her off. He needed excuses. One sprang to mind almost instantly; it was something teenagers like him used all the time in uncomfortable situations during this particular time period. "Bathroom."

"Huh?" Her jaw dropped open unattractively. He did not linger on to elaborate, but merely turned on his heel and disappeared around the corner. He struggled to keep from sprinting to the exit. He wanted to remain as normal and natural as possible. He cleared his throat, making a show of trying to find the sign indicating a restroom somewhere. It wasn't necessary, however, because he didn't hear the woman follow him. He released a small sigh of relief and dared to glance back to the canned foods aisle.

"Makoto, there you are." Chiaki's entire form froze for the second time that day. _That_ was his voice. It was deeper, a lot less accented, but there was no mistake. It was _his._ His gaze flicked to the exit.

"Chiaki, that was quick," came the woman's voice, critical yet amused.

"Sorry, really had to go," came the breezy reply. Chiaki's lips thinned. Morbid curiosity got the better of him and he gingerly approached the corner, taking a peek through stacks of bread. The woman's back was turned to him, watching her companion—watching _him._ It was the older version of himself. What in the world was _he_ doing _here_? They even wore matching clothing, down to the shoes, although the older self definitely filled it out better.

"What was that all about, huh?" demanded the woman—Makoto? So, he knew her? In the future, at least?

"What do you mean?" answered Chiaki 2.0, cocking his head to the side.

"You ditch me in cereals and when I find you ogling over anchovies, you take off again! What's your deal?"

"Nothing," shrugged Chiaki 2.0 nonchalantly. Chiaki really had to hand it to himself—he was really composed around someone as crazy as her.

Her face turned marginally to the side, sending her grimace haplessly into the canned vegetables. Chiaki 2.0's eyes briefly darted in his direction. From behind the assortment of bread, Chiaki stopped breathing. Of course he would know; it was a memory of his now. A soundless word formed on the man's lips: "Go." His eyes returned unassumingly to the woman by his side.

"It doesn't have anything to do with this, does it?" questioned Makoto, sticking up her left hand. Her face tinged a startling shade of red. Chiaki's eyes roved up her arm, to the silver ring on her finger. "I mean, you _did_ ask me, but if you're just going to regret it or something, I'll let you take it back."

Chiaki 2.0 frowned, seized her by the hand and pulled it to his waist. His head dropped to meet hers. "Don't be stupid, Makoto. I love you."

Chiaki, who had been immobilized from behind the bulwark of carbohydrates, took a staggering step back from the display he'd just witnessed. What? _What?_

Makoto gave an unladylike snort, leaning into him. "You must really love anchovies, too."

"Anchovies are gross," Chiaki 2.0 murmured, a small smile spreading on his lips. "Now, stop embarrassing me in public."

"Who's embarrassing?" retorted Makoto. Chuckling, Chiaki 2.0 dipped his face until their lips met.

Chiaki twisted away from the display he wasn't sure he was meant to see. He didn't know what to think. He fell in love in the future, to a girl from the past. He bit his lip nervously. A slew of curses ran up and down his mind, but only one, from this very era, made it to his lips. "Crap."

* * *

**A/N: **It has certainly been a while! I hope you all have been well. I wrote this about a month ago, but of course, did not post it due to academic prioritizing. Once again, I liked the premise, but the execution failed to meet my expectations. Imagine how you would feel knowing, without a doubt, that you were going to fall in love with someone before you even met them. Throw a time-traveler who isn't even _supposed to be there_ in the mix and you have one very frustrated, panicky Chiaki Mamiya.

Also, I'm usually not that satisfied with my chapter titles, but this time, I am. If you don't already know the term, feel free to wiki it. "Dynamic inconsistency" is also known as "time inconsistency," which, coupled with its definition, fit the bill perfectly. Sorry to sound so unctuous this time around. I'm just excited to be back! Thank you for reading. Have a swell day.


	47. Beautiful Song

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Girl who Leapt through Time._

x: _forty-seven_

**Beautiful Song**

* * *

"Stop harping. It's fine," replied Makoto rather impatiently. "Seriously, _I'll be fine_, Kousuke. You're in New York, for goodness' sake. It's not like I expected my twenty-fourth birthday to be a big deal, anyway." Another string of gentle apologies looped their way through the telephone, prompting Makoto to sigh, yet again. "Yes, I got your package. It was sitting on my doorstep when I got off of work today. Yeah, I love it! Thanks. Now, go save lives or something. Fine, fine. We'll celebrate when you get back next month. Okay? Bye." She dropped the receiver into a convenient crevice in the couch and slumped tiredly into its comforting cushions. She was surprised he was up so early over there, in spite his demanding schedule; it was already well into the evening where she was. Makoto kicked off her work heels, loosened the fastening on her silk blouse, and propped both feet on the coffee table, letting her skirt ride up and shutting her eyes for a brief moment.

Work had been exhausting today. Her aunt had tried goading her into taking the day off, but Makoto didn't feel there was a point to it. Kousuke was out of the country on business, Yuri had to take care of her six-month-old son, and her troupe of university friends were currently in Australia finishing graduate school. Her birthday passed on as unassumingly as the last, and she didn't really mind. She had grabbed lunch with her sister, treated herself with a spontaneous trip to the _onsen_, and had accumulated a modest number of gifts and packages over the past week. Kousuke didn't have to sound so concerned; she just didn't want to make a big deal out of it.

Kousuke's internationally-stamped package sat open on her tabletop. Makoto allowed her feet to slide off the surface as she leaned forward to pluck the signed baseball mitt into her lap. She felt a giddy smile tugging at her lips; it was signed by Matsuzaka Daisuke, who still played for the Boston Red Sox. She once admitted to having a bit of a crush on the famous pitcher, who had grown up in Toyko. She couldn't believe Kousuke still remembered that silly detail. She hadn't mentioned it since high school.

She hefted herself to her feet and shimmied merrily to the kitchen, scooping up a bottle of red wine her old fellow art history major had sent her from France. Taking a glass from the cabinet, she popped the cork and poured herself a glass before padding back to the living room. She took a sip as she surveyed her surprisingly neat and orderly apartment. She had been working so hard lately that she was hardly here at all, if not sleeping or eating. Makoto's complacent smile faded somewhat as she took in the spotlessness and quietude. She crossed the room to the stereo and turned on some jazz music from an artist Miyuki was rather fond of. Music was not Makoto's forte, but there was no arguing that it fit the mood for tonight. She took another innocent sip from her drink and, humming along to the dulcet notes, began to sway gently to the music.

"_I see skies of blue_," chirruped Makoto in her faulty English, "_and clouds of white_." She spun capriciously on her heel. The deep red-toned wine whirled along, bound by the walls of her glass.

(Happy Birthday to you.)

She drained her cup and set on the table, weaving across the floor, arms up as if in the embrace of some invisible partner. The music began to stir her and a wave of loneliness lapped at her like a wave on a beach shore.

(Happy Birthday to you.)

"_I see friends shaking hands_," Makoto tip-toed beneath the arc of her arm, in the hollow imitation of a turn, and she sang, "_saying, 'How do you do_?'" She closed her eyes and pretended to rest her head against her pretend-lead, her lips forming the next words.

(Happy Birthday, dear Makoto.)

"_They're really saying, 'I love you_.'"

Makoto's eyes flared open. The first thing she registered was her face against someone's shirt. How much wine did she—? Her eyes followed the curve of her outstretched arm, to find that her fingers were held in someone else's. She jerked her head up so fast she felt her neck crack, eyes fixed wide in petrifaction. Green eyes smiled brightly back at her. He danced them slowly in a circle, his eyes never leaving hers. Makoto gazed, long and hard, at the terrifyingly familiar face, the music all but forgotten behind her. "Are you real?" she breathed.

A soft, chuckling laugh. "Of course, I'm real."

Makoto's body lost its shocked rigidity and she broke the intertwining of their hands to wrap her arms around his (unbelievably) corporeal body. She pressed as close as she could, willing this not to be a masochistic dream, and squeezed her cheek against his chest, soaking in the scent of him. "Chiaki, Chiaki," she repeated in a reel, "Chiaki, you're here."

"Happy Birthday, Makoto." His hand came up to stroke the back of her head. Tears she hadn't realized she had been holding in coursed down her warm, red cheeks. He was real, and he was here.

"You better be real," she said threateningly, clenching her teeth.

He dropped his head close to hers, smiling into her hair. "You look beautiful."

(Happy birthday to you.)

* * *

**A/N:** Lyrics from "What a Wonderful World" by Louis Armstrong. It really such a beautiful song. The image of a lonely woman dancing to this song really hit me in the gut so I spun a tale over it and it became this. Thank you for all the reviews, favorites, and alerts. I cherish every one of them. But, I do especially appreciate the reviews, I have to say. Because they're always so encouraging and cheerful, a real treat to read. Thank you for reading. Comments are welcome and critique is appreciated. Have a wonderful day.


	48. PatchedUp World

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Girl who Leapt through Time._

x: _forty-eight_

**Patched-Up World**

* * *

"Makoto?"

The woman in question turned to watch her mother descending the stairs. "Morning, Mom," piped Makoto, her voice curiously absent of its usual drowsiness.

"You're up early," her mother remarked, unable to completely disguise the astonishment in her expression.

Makoto, eyes bright and alert, shrugged, stirring the pulp around in her orange juice with her straw. "I haven't slept in since high school, Mom," she laughed.

Her mother surveyed the tuna-peach dawn spreading out over the sky through the kitchen window. "Your father and sister aren't even up yet." Again, Makoto shrugged, as if her mother was commenting on the color of her unremarkably brown hair. "Has college made you into such an early bird?" she jested, buttoning up her knitted sweater. Perhaps, she merely hadn't noticed before due to the brevity of Makoto's visits and academic vacations.

"Where are you going?" asked Makoto.

"I'm taking the car out of town today to visit an old friend of mine. She just moved back to Japan." She lifted a bag of packed food and fruit, a housewarming gift propped in her other hand.

"Okay, tell her welcome for me," said Makoto.

"I will." Her mother pressed a kiss to Makoto's temple and left the house with a swing of keys and the sliding of a door.

Makoto finished off her orange juice and was just rinsing the glass when some light footsteps signaled the awakening of her little sister. Makoto glanced out of the window. Dawn had barely broken, and it was a Sunday morning. What was she doing up so early? "Morning," she called as soon as dark hair and thin limbs walked into the kitchen.

Miyuki, to her utter bewilderment, said nothing. She sat down at the kitchen table, turning her head mechanically to watch the sun climb higher in the sky. Makoto stuck the glass on the dish rack and propped open the refrigerator with a sock-enclosed foot. "What do you feel like having? Milk or OJ? We have both. I can make you an omelet if you'd like."

Miyuki continued her watch as if she hadn't even spoken. Makoto grabbed the milk and poured out a glass, eyebrow quirked obnoxiously high on her face. What was _with _her? Miyuki had failed to issue a wry comment upon seeing her up and awake, hadn't gotten up and shook her by the shoulders demanding where the _real_ Makoto went—because the _real_ Makoto would _never _offer to cook breakfast. Makoto pushed the glass of cold milk forward. Miyuki took a sip of it and set it down. Makoto very nearly recoiled. Miyuki hated cold milk; she always stuck in the microwave first.

Makoto eased herself into the chair next to her sister. "How's school?" she inquired gingerly.

"Oh, it's fine," Miyuki supplied, taking another sip of the tragically cold milk.

"You're not having trouble in English, are you?" probed Makoto. "I know what that's like. I had to get Kousuke—"

"English is no problem."

"Math?"

"I got an award last week for Math." Makoto wanted to sigh at the insouciance in her tone. That was where all the brains went in the family. It was like the universe didn't even bother to spare her some. "When do you have to go back?"

Oh, was that it? "Tomorrow morning I have to be back at the university." A teasing grin shifted onto her face. "Going to miss your big sis?"

"No, not at all."

Ouch. Makoto just short of glared at her. "Then, _what_ is wrong with you? You're drinking cold milk."

Miyuki's trance-like gaze snapped in half, and she gawped at the beverage in her hand. "Oh, yuck!" She scrambled out of her seat and immediately took it to the microwave. At least, deduced Makoto, her sister hadn't been replaced by an alien. That was a good sign. Miyuki returned to her seat as the digits hummed away on the microwave timer, eyes set with a strange pinch as she again glanced out of the window.

"Are you okay, Miyuki?" The question was ignored. Okay, so her sister was fine—a little absent-minded but otherwise fine.

The tinny beep of the microwave went off, and the change was so immediate that Makoto could barely keep up. Miyuki twisted back in her chair, eyes wide and frozen, color rapidly departing from her cheeks. Her eyes snapped to the microwave clock, which flashed its green zeroes at her. Miyuki's tiny jaw tensed, her expression so sharp and helpless that Makoto felt herself almost getting up. The ringing dissipated.

"Miyuki, are you—"

Suddenly, Miyuki's entire aspect crumpled and she erupted into heartrending sobs, sobs that were uncontrollable, inconsolable, and candid. Sobs that made Makoto's teeth grind from the agony of watching, sobs that made it feel like she was hearing her sister's soul being ripped out from in front of her. Miyuki's shaking hands cradled her tear-streaked face, her eyes screwed tightly shut, her entire body shuddering from the force of her grief. "I'm—" gasped Miyuki, stuttering futilely before she realized the next words would be lost in her cries. "Why—_hhhh_ does it—hurt," Miyuki rocked back her chair, pressing her palms against her cheeks, "s-s-so _hhhhh_ bad?"

"Miyuki, Miyuki, come here." Makoto held her sister in a way she hadn't since she was seven, after Miyuki had fallen off her bike and screamed and cried because of all the blood on her knee. She rested her chin on the top of her sister's head, letting the girl cry into her shirt. She took Miyuki's hand and squeezed it, just like she used to. Miyuki's cries were even worse this way, this close; every sharp intake of breath felt like a thousand knives her gut, every wrench of the shoulders felt like an earthquake. Her own throat constricted terribly, sympathetically.

"The stars," Miyuki gasped, throat raw from effort, "_hhh_—gone."

Makoto swallowed the lump in her throat. "Shh, let it out, okay? I'm here." Miyuki nodded weakly against her neck, fingers clenched around hers. Makoto watched the sky fade from pink to blue, watched as the milk went cold. But the numbers on the dial continued to blink.

Makoto had never seen Miyuki cry like this before. She had always been the pillar of strength, calm and collected: the comforter. Makoto had always been the ugly crybaby, the loud, whiny crybaby that couldn't keep her tears to herself. Even now, Miyuki's sobs were hushed in comparison, but just as, if not more, volatile. What could have caused this? Had there been signs she had been missing? That her entire family missed? Miyuki had been incredibly peppy and cheerful these past few days. She got up earlier to attend school, finished her homework faster than she ever had, stopped complaining altogether about the pesky boy in class she had to tutor. It didn't make sense.

Makoto felt her sister's breathing slow, the hiccups settling. She pivoted her head, letting her cheek meet the crown of Miyuki's head. "This is about school." Miyuki managed to nod. "The boy in school." Makoto pulled their twined fingers up, tapping Miyuki gently on the forehead with them.

"He's gone." Something about the absolute hollowness of her voice halted Makoto's forthcoming, _He wasn't good enough for you if he couldn't stay. _"You wouldn't believe me," Miyuki murmured weakly after a long moment.

"I will. I promise, I will."

"He's gone. I love him. I love him, but he's not coming back, is he?"

"He might."

"He won't, because he saw the stars. That's all he wanted, all he needed—he couldn't take me with him, and he couldn't stay. You think I'm crazy."

"No," said Makoto softly.

"The meteor shower last night, that was the one. He told me he had been waiting a year for that night, just to see the meteor shower. Makoto, it was beautiful."

"Everyone's been talking about it," agreed Makoto.

"Right in front of me, he disappeared." Makoto felt her hands turn to ice. "He said he was out of time." The numbers on the dial blinked mutely, green zeros in all in a row, and the breath left Makoto's lungs.

"Makoto," Miyuki buried herself against her sister, grasping at her shirt as if it was her last tether to reality, "Makoto, you're going to think I'm insane."

"He's a time-traveler," answered Makoto as the words were poised to leave Miyuki's lips.

Miyuki's miserable, vulnerable eyes widened. "How do you know? You believe me?"

"Of course, I believe you," she said, as Miyuki wiped a wet trail from her face. "You remember Chiaki?"

"The idiot who had the hugest crush on you. Of course, I remember."

Makoto smiled. "He was one, too."

"Oh."

"Must run in the family. You think Dad is a time-traveler?" joked Makoto, eyes watering traitorously. This was cruel. How could this happen to her sister? How dare that stupid future-boy come crashing through her perfectly normal life and turn it upside-down?

For the first time in what must have been eternity, Miyuki chuckled, a pathetic, feeble chuckle. "He can't be. I don't think time-travelers come back."

Her words rent at the space in Makoto's heart that she thought she had left far behind. Makoto mirrored her chuckle, determined not to let those old feelings bubble through. "Did he kiss you, at least?"

Miyuki coughed, embarrassed. "Yes."

Another rip appeared in her perfectly patched-up world. "See, that means things will be alright," said Makoto, tucking Miyuki's head against her neck in a gesture of reassurance and comfort.

But that was to hide that tears that spilled from her lashes.

* * *

**A/N:** I apologize for the great delay. My motivation left me and didn't think it was worth it to totter back until right this very moment. And even now, it's not wholly there, a part of it is, the part that felt guilty enough. I've been itching to write a Miyuki-centric piece for a while (since she's such a darling), but I also think it casts a different light on Makoto as well. Freshly written, so please let me know if there is anything to correct. As per usual, comments are welcome, and critique is encouraged. Thank you for reading. Have a worldly day.


	49. Signs

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Girl who Leapt through Time._

x:_ forty-nine_

**Signs**

* * *

Makoto socked Chiaki in the arm. He laughed, hand flying to the spot to prevent another one from coming. "Ouch," he said, cheeks dimpled from the force of his grin. "That hurts, Makoto."

"Don't tell me such stupid jokes, then!" she retorted, smiling despite herself. "Idiot!"

"That _was_ a stupid joke," validated Kousuke, peering at his friend through his glasses as if he'd never heard something so absurd in his entire life.

Chiaki continued to grin. "You loved it. C'mon, I can see it in your face."

Makoto shook her head in disbelief, the mirroring grin barely contained by her lips. "Chiaki," she attempted and, realizing she could add nothing else, let the sentence die between them.

"Makoto?"

Makoto turned around in her seat, eyes skimming over the lunchtime din and landing directly on the head that had poked in from the hallway. "Hey, Yuri!" Having gotten her attention, Yuri said something, but her words were lost in the clamor of classroom chairs and excited, gossipy whispers. "What? Hold on—I'll be right back," she said to the two of them, getting up out of her seat.

Yuri looked both relieved and shamefaced as Makoto cut across the classroom to her. Makoto couldn't see it because she was turned away, but there was no way Yuri could miss the small frown that appeared on Chiaki's face or the clinical dimming in Kousuke's eyes.

"What's the matter?" asked Makoto as soon as she was within speaking distance of Yuri. "Sorry, I couldn't hear you over there."

Yuri scratched her cheek rather anxiously. "There's someone looking for you by the basketball courts."

"Who is it?"

"I don't remember his name. He asked me if I could come get you."

"Is it important?" asked Makoto, glancing over her shoulder at Chiaki and Kousuke. They had long lost interest in her conversation and were now flicking a paper triangle at each other for points.

"He said it was."

"Oh, okay, I'll go right now then," said Makoto, already stepping out into the hall, her body poised to run. Makoto wasn't the type to take her time running errands. "Thanks for letting me know, Yuri!" With that, she sped down the hall, short brown hair trouncing about. Yuri nodded, the hand that had come up to give her a weak wave dropping back to her side.

"It's a confession, isn't it?"

Yuri nearly jumped, turning to stare at the girls who sat around the class representative. "That's—how do you know?"

"It's obvious, isn't it? When a girl gets called out during lunch or after school, it's because a guy finally scraped up the guts enough to confess! This is going to be good!" They scrambled out of their seats and migrated like a school of fish to the far corner window. All the other girls and guys who milled about the classroom during lunch looked up at the commotion.

"What's going on?" asked one of the poor fellows who was slowly being suffocated by the mass that had crowded around his desk.

Chiaki and Kousuke glanced up from their bout of paper football, swiveling their head every which way in clear alarm as students populated their previously unoccupied space near the windows. They stood up together uncertainly, eyes locked on each other before following the current trend. "What are we supposed to be looking at?" asked Chiaki, easily peering over the heads of several other students.

"Someone's confessing to Konno!" announced the girl who had eavesdropped on Yuri's message. Chiaki and Kousuke jerked their heads to the voice, expressions shockingly similar: speechless incredulity. They snuck one quick glance at Yuri, who squirmed beneath their scrutiny, before plastering their dumbstruck faces to the window.

"What? You're kidding! Let me see!" somebody else spouted. Yuri could only watch helplessly as all the students gravitated to the windows, blowing any chance Makoto had at privacy to the four winds.

"There she is!"

"Who's that guy next to her?"

"It's the basketball captain, numbskull!"

"Can you hear what they're saying?"

"SHH! No, I can't—shh!"

Yuri had inched her way to the other side of Kousuke, curiosity getting the better of her. She peeked over the edge and saw Makoto on the pavement below, conversing with the same tall, lanky male that had asked her just moments ago to fetch Makoto. Suddenly, the basketball captain scratched the back of his head, eyes darting to the floor between them. Makoto looked taken aback, the easy smile that was on her lips dropping away. She mustered what looked like a laugh before turning away so the window-people couldn't see her answer.

"What is she saying?"

"She's saying yes, of course!" snapped a girl from the back. "He's the basketball captain!" Chiaki and Kousuke scowled at the girl.

"Wait, wait—she's shaking her head!" Groans echoed through the room. Yuri was surprised at the sudden jostling of people as they returned to their seats. Chiaki and Kousuke sat back in their chairs, looking at each other as if they didn't quite believe what they had just witnessed.

Moments later, Makoto breezed into the room, oblivious to the furtive glances and muted whispers that exploded in her wake. Yuri could hardly look her friend in the eye, but Makoto just shot her a swift grin as if nothing of import had happened at all before plopping back in her chair. Yuri released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and slid into her own seat.

"What took you?" hedged Kousuke carefully.

"Huh?" Makoto's eyes roved up the ceiling, a habit of hers for conjuring lies. "Oh, I was just getting something from the vending machine."

"Where is it?" followed Chiaki in a heartbeat.

Makoto blinked, unruffled now that her fib had taken shape. "Ate it already."

Chiaki and Kousuke visibly had settled down by her second response, as if they were pleased by Makoto's unwillingness to disclose the truth. "That fast? I'm not surprised," said Chiaki with an exaggerated lift of the eyebrow. Makoto socked him in the arm. Yuri figured that, somehow, it was a sign that their tripartite friendship was still intact.

In the following weeks, Chiaki and Kousuke could be found within three strides from Makoto at all times. Yuri figured that, somehow, that was a sign, too.

* * *

**A/N:** Don't get me wrong. I love Makoto and her boys, but sometimes, people (read: her classmates) need a little reminder that she's most definitely a girl. If I hadn't already been charmed by Chiaki's helpless crush on her, I totally would have shipped her with some kind of athlete. I know. I'm a traitor for thinking this way. In any case, I hope you enjoyed it. Also, 400+ reviews? You guys are amazing. I love you all for sticking with me this long. Thank you for reading. Comments are welcome; critique is encouraged. Have a dreamy day.


	50. Go Traditional

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Girl who Leapt through Time._

x:_ fifty_

**Go Traditional**

The day he brings her breakfast in bed, she knows something big is about to happen.

When she chokes on a diamond hidden in her scrambled eggs, she immediately thinks romantic people from the future are utter _buffoons_. Chiaki pales when he realizes she's not _not _speaking from shock, but rather because she is asphyxiating on his precious rock. Through the shuddering attempts at the Heimlich maneuver, she hears him yammer on in his nervous panic about how she's not supposed inhale her breakfast like some kind of carpet-cleaning household appliance—but can anyone even blame her? He put in it in her _eggs_, for goodness' sake!

She's still cursing his stupid, romantic, funny, adorable existence when she remembers that this is _Chiaki_, the idiot who ran all the way back to the past to tell her how much of an imbecile he was for trying to wait, since he never has been or will be a patient person.

The ring goes sailing out of her esophagus and clatters along the floor. It's covered in yellow, half-chewed goop and a mixture of her spit and bile, but he picks it up, anyway, anxiously fiddling with it as she gawks wordlessly at him. "You poisoned my eggs," she accuses him tartly.

"You weren't supposed to eat it that fast," he replies in his defense. "If I put it in the orange juice, you would have guzzled it down for sure."

"You could have put it in something else, you know," Makoto rubs her neck gingerly, trying not to wince and cause him to worry further,"like pancakes."

Chiaki blinks contemplatively at the ground, the soiled ring still squeezed betwixt his fingers. "You hate pancakes."

"Waffles, then."

"I don't know how to make waffles."

"You could have just gone traditional," she sighs, feigning exasperation.

"You mean, on one knee?"

"Yeah, I guess." Makoto takes advantage of his silence to grab another, mercifully untainted, bite of eggs. When she looks over again, he's dropped to one knee, the ring proffered between his fingers. She blinks dazedly at him. It is suddenly, stunningly, real. He is asking her to—

"Marry me?"

A teasing smile dances onto her lips. "Well, you did almost kill me just now." Chiaki begins to look intimidated, discouraged. "But since you make a mean breakfast, I'll let that one slide." She leans down, pulling him to her by the collar, and pecks him on the lips. He relaxes instantly, sliding the slimy ring onto her finger.

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes, that's a yes," she responds. She glances down at the ring. It's beautiful, and fits her just right. Then, her brow dips in consternation. "But why _eggs_?"

Chiaki sighs and shuts her up with a kiss.

* * *

**A/N: **We've made it to 50 installments. 50. This is the most committed I've ever been to project, so I want to thank you all for the support. It's about time that I get them engaged, huh? A special thank-you to** MarieZenalou**; you're so sweet and wonderful for reviewing practically every chapter from the beginning. This is not the end, but I will say that I may not update regularly from here on out, due to a very important upcoming academic year. Comments are welcome; critique is encouraged. Thank you for reading. Have a delicious day.


	51. Aim

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Girl who Leapt through Time._

x:_ fifty-one_

**Aim**

Chiaki had promptly beaten his head against the wall the afternoon he realized it. It had been three weeks ago. Makoto had knocked a baseball straight into the back of his skull, sending him into dusty, pink dirt of the baseball diamond face-first.

"MY BAD!" she yelped from somewhere outside of his ringing temple. He heard the aluminum bat hit the ground and messy, quick steps as she raced over to examine the damage. Chiaki groaned, clutching the back of his head with one hand, the other propping him off the ground. Kousuke abruptly began laughing from his post, clearly amused now that the initial shock had worn off on him.

Chiaki rubbed his head gingerly as Makoto slid to a stop beside him and knelt down. He was never complaining about her weak swings ever again, that was for sure. "Damn, you could have warned me," he mustered, squinting one green eye at her.

Makoto went from concerned to self-righteous. "You should've been paying attention, Chiaki! What the hell were you staring off into space for?" she huffed. He got to his knees and tried to push himself into an upright position, but he wobbled slightly to the right and stopped. Makoto hurriedly clutched at his school uniform.

Kousuke called out, "You okay over there?"

"I'm fine!" Chiaki retorted, grimacing. Makoto didn't hit _that_ hard.

Without warning, Makoto put and arm around his waist and hauled him up. She was tinier than him by quite a bit, so he only came up to slouching position. Sometimes, he forgot how small she was. But it wasn't that or the unexpected gesture that startled him. It was the sharp, sudden sensation of her feminine frame against his, the way her arm looped around his waist protectively, the tips of her fingers making indentations in his skin through the shirt. It wasn't the first time she'd ever touched him. Makoto, being Makoto, was extremely generous with touch—a punch, a kick in the shin, a slap on the back, even a pinching of the cheeks if she felt like embarrassing someone. But this time, he felt hot, uncomfortably _hot._ He tried to squirm free, but she only responded but pulling him closer. "Stop trying to act tough! I'm just dragging you to the bleachers," she cried, exasperated.

Chiaki hadn't leapt in the while, but at that very moment, it almost felt like he did. The world around him seemed to halt to screeching stop. Chiaki could feel it pressing against his side. Makoto's breasts. He never paid them attention before; it wasn't like Makoto ever did. Between her relentless manhandling, and agonizing space between them and bleachers, Chiaki got a whole lot more of that sensation, as well as a few tingling brushes against her bare legs, and when he tried to awkwardly extract himself a second time, an unintentional but veritable squeeze of her soft waist with his free hand. He quickly decided that his entire body was acting like a traitor and stuck both hands to the most neutral territory he could find: his aching head, and her shoulder.

By the time she dropped him off, Kousuke had gone from chortling to grinning, clearly having a ball with Chiaki's enfeebled condition. At the same time, Chiaki realized it; he liked it. He, Mamiya Chiaki, time traveler from the future, _liked_ the way Konno Makoto, tomboyish best friend who was completely off-limits, had held him. He thrust his head into his hands, hiding his desperate, panicked expression from view. He wanted more of it. And it wasn't just that, he wanted them to be alone. He wanted to make her laugh; he wanted her to curl up against him like those other girls he saw on campus. He wanted to kiss her. It had to be the worst thing in the universe.

"Earth to Chiaki!" bellowed Makoto right into his ear. He swatted her away half-heartedly. Makoto plopped down next to him and stuck a bottle of water in his face. "You think it's serious?" She sounded worried.

"No, I'm fine," Chiaki insisted, unable to squeeze enough willpower out to even remotely dislike the way her leg was leaning against his. "Don't you know how to aim?" he griped sarcastically.

Makoto appeared triumphant, her lips—they looked so pink and fresh right now, he thought with a growing pit of dread—curling up into a smirk. "I got you pretty good, didn't I?"

"Yeah." She didn't know how right she was.

"I didn't mean to, though," she said, eyes honest and open.

"I know you didn't, but you got me anyway," he replied, not meaning to sound sullen.

"Next time, you've got to pay attention!"

"You need a trip to the clinic?" inquired Kousuke, striding up with a quirk of the eyebrow.

Chiaki didn't mean to, but he gave Kousuke sharp look. Kousuke blinked, interpreting his gesture as offense rather than what Chiaki hadn't expected to feel: territorial. He quickly diffused the unfriendly look and got to his feet. Makoto followed suit. "Nah, I'm ready for another round. Just no more thwacks to the face, alright?" he said archly.

Kousuke slapped him on the back. "How about you get to be batter this time? We'll make Makoto the catcher and see how she likes it when she gets one in the kisser."

"Hey!" Makoto waved her arms in front of her, agitated. "I didn't do it on purpose!"

The Chiaki from yesterday wouldn't have had any qualms about giving her a good one as payback. But the Chiaki from now secretly didn't want to. Chiaki didn't want to freak her out by saying so, though. He was freaked out by his reaction as it was. He grinned, not feeling half as mischievous as he should have. "I like the sound of that, Kousuke. I'll be batter."

"Chiaki, you moron, I said I didn't do it on purpose!" she wailed, socking him in the arm.

"Then, I won't do it on purpose either," he said breezily, leaning over her before he could help it. She blinked, and drew back instinctively. He tried not to let that bother him, but it did.

* * *

Three weeks after realizing he liked her—as in, _let's date_ liked, not _you're cool_ liked—he stood on the baseball field, trying not to glare at her, trying not to just tell her to _like me already! _He'd had enough of her brush-offs all day, the stupid cat-and-mouse game she was playing. He didn't even know what he did wrong. He had simply come up to her and asked her if she saw the baseball game the night before, what she thought of it. She did that nervous thing she did with her short hair, blinked a lot, didn't look him in the eye, and muttered some half-assed excuse before high-tailing it away from him like he was a leper or something. Of course, he'd want to go out with Hayakawa after being spurned all day. Who wouldn't? She was a nice girl. Makoto wasn't—at least, not today.

But part of him, the mean, sulking, unhappy part of him, knew what it really was. He wanted to see her jealous. Even just a little, just to know she cared about him.

So, as he cheerfully relayed the story to them of how Hayakawa just _got_ him—she really didn't, though, not like Makoto did—he pitched the ball and aimed it right for Makoto's face, hoping he could knock the _like me_ right into her, too.

The shocked look on her face as the ball connected killed him. He regretted it instantly: the hit, everything he'd said. He wanted to take it all back. A red blotchy bruise swelled against her cheek and she just gaped at him. Kousuke stared at him. He swallowed thickly, trying to act himself: funny, unaffected.

She should have caught that, was all he could think. He would never know that she did.

* * *

**A/N:** This completely veered off track. It was supposed to be about swimming. And definitely not moody. I tampered with the ending a little. I do realize that it was Kousuke who threw the ball into Makoto's face. Sometimes, I wish they just _got together already._ This piece is a manifestation of that undying sentiment. Comments are welcome; critique is encouraged. Thank you for reading. Have a revelational day.


	52. Watching

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Girl who Leapt through Time._

x:_ fifty-two_

**Watching**

She's the most beautiful person at this wedding.

The rapture on her face is pure, honest; absolutely riveting. Her bright, coffee-colored eyes peer up the aisle, her arm looped around her father's. She makes the dress look like beam of light against a rain-splashed field. She takes her first step forward. He knows she's trying her damnedest not to grin and ruin the ceremony. He wants to stop time, suddenly, and paint her there. The first step, before she makes that leap. The first step before she says yes, _yes, of course I do, you lucky bastard!_

His fingers tremble in his pocket. He finds a ball of lint inside, and pinches it like a last breath. She's so happy, so _perfect_, that he doesn't how he can just stand there watching her come up the aisle. Without tripping a single step, she makes it to the altar, her smile bursting with love—topped with just a dash of pride at the impeccability of her tread.

He almost wants to laugh—he knows what she's thinking so well—but he doesn't. He just watches her, eating up this stunning vision, as if this glimpse will last him an eternity. He wants it to. He desperately wants it to.

The officiant begins. But he hears nothing of the words. He only listens for her answer. He knows what it will be.

"Yes! I do!"

The officiant smiles, because he knew it, too. He tells the groom to kiss the bride, so the groom does.

Chiaki just stands there, watching, wishing the lint in his pocket were another leap. Because he's too late this time.

* * *

**A/N:** So, I have them engaged in one piece, then I have Makoto off marrying someone else in another? Wow, what awing consistency. Some of you told me how impressionable some of my shorter pieces were, so I thought I'd go for another short snippet. You guys are truly a wonderful bunch. A special thanks to **Satari-Raine**, who actually went back to review every single chapter, in a single day. You all constantly make my day, so I hope, at least once during this long-winded project, I made yours. Thank you for reading. Comments are welcome; critique is encouraged. Have a nostalgic day.


	53. Hunger

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Girl who Leapt through Time._

x:_ fifty-three_

**Hunger**

His hands slide down her bare midriff. She loves the feel of his hands—warm and lean against her skin, his fingers long and elegant, an artist's hands. She feels him rest them just below her navel. Makoto places one hand on top of his. She takes the other and brings it up to her chest, letting it sit over her heartbeat. She can feel her heart thrumming contentedly beneath the soft pads of his fingertips. "Can you feel it?"

"Yes." He smiles into her hair, then tucks his head against the curve of her neck.

"Liar," she says, smiling. She cranes her neck back and kisses him full on the mouth. "She's only four weeks."

"Four weeks and two days," he corrects.

Makoto turns, sits on her haunches as she wraps her arms around him, drawing his face closer to hers. The tank top skims back down over her exposed belly. "Are you trying to win brownie points?"

A grin tugs at the corner of his lips. "Is it working?"

"Maybe." She coyly presses her lips against the shell of his ear, trails it down his neck as she fists her hand into his shirt. "Can you do me a favor?" His hands coax the straps of top from her shoulders. She stops him by taking his hands and pressing them to her lips. "Different favor, Chiaki."

"It better be good," he murmurs.

"Bake me a pumpkin pie." Chiaki's half-lidded eyes flare open in astonishment. "And tacos."

"Right now?" he responds, his voice curling into a whine of disbelief. "Makoto, it's midnight!"

"Hey," she shoves him playfully back against the bed's backboard, mischief alight in her eyes, "if I don't get dessert, you don't either."

He pushes her back, pinning her beneath him in a rare show of aggression. "I'm hungry, Makoto." His voice is husky in her ear, hot against her cheeks.

"You can be hungry after I'm hungry," she declares impertinently. He kisses her hard. Makoto knows he's aggravated, but she also knows he'll listen to her. With some reluctance, he pulls away and gets up to bake her pie. She rolls onto her side, propping her head up with an elbow, and smiles affectionately at him with a kiss-swollen bottom lip. He frowns amusedly at her from the doorway, his hair a tousled mess. He almost looks yummy enough to satiate her cravings. Almost.

Just as he disappears down the hallway, she raises her voice and says, "Can you make me coconut shrimp, too, Chiaki?"

She hears him mutter something from the kitchen. Finally, he replies in a voice loud enough for her to catch, "If that's what you want, Makoto."

Makoto smiles into the bed sheets. He doesn't like to keep her waiting.

* * *

**A/N: **A fun, flirty scene to make up for the previous one. Chiaki's got to be the cook, since I'm almost 100% certain Makoto would be a disaster in the kitchen. I apologize for being practically non-existent these past few months. Busy times. Thank you for reading. Feedback is, of course, always welcome.


	54. Almost Wasn't Good Enough

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Girl who Leapt through Time._

x:_ fifty-four_

**Almost Wasn't Good Enough**

She'd almost had him figured out.

* * *

Makoto's face scrunches up as she scrutinizes him. "Your hands," she begins, placing hers beside his, "why are they so pretty?"

Chiaki has absolutely no answer to such a strange question. He never thinks about his hands much. She takes his hand, pressing her fingers against his like a hesitant first kiss. His fingers are long, elegant, in comparison to hers. She has feminine hands, to be sure, but there's something artistic in his that she doesn't understand. As she lowers their hands back to the table, her attention catches against the blue wristband, the one he wears every day. She tries to remember a day he's gone without it, but finds she can't. It's impossible to imagine him without it, as impossible as it is to find someone with the same liquid green of his eyes.

She doesn't ask for permission. She's not the type to. He likes her that way.

She starts to pry it off, eyes bright with curiosity. He's always wanted to paint it—that spark in her eyes—but he's scared he wouldn't do it any justice. It's a glow that can't be emulated, something that would be dull on canvas. It's Makoto's, and Makoto's alone.

His heart starts racing. He knows she shouldn't, knows he shouldn't let her but there's something in him that wants her to know—to understand and see him for what he truly is. He doesn't want this burdensome secret stretching between them like an endless ocean anymore. Her thumb trails over his skin, heating it beneath her touch in a way he won't understand for years. (But by the time he does, it's too late.)

Steps rattle across the tiling. The distraction jars her enough to sever the beam of curiosity and it recedes until he can't see it anymore. Kousuke stands at their table, sporting a black eye. She stands up, lips parted in shock. Her hand flies to Kousuke's temple, experimentally prodding at the plum-colored skin. She's always cared about them more than they gave her credit for.

"What happened?" she blurts indelicately.

"Yeah," Chiaki adds softly, surreptitiously removing his arm from the table, "what happened?"

"Kid in my neighborhood playing ball." Kousuke swats Makoto's probing hand away out of irritation. Chiaki feels a flash of hot anger at the thoughtless gesture, but he doesn't make a comment. Makoto doesn't try again. She's sensitive that way. "Bad aim, but good arm."

Makoto starts to laugh, now that the mystery's been solved. Chiaki realizes a little too late that he's forgetting to laugh. He forces a spiritless chuckle. Makoto's grin dims a little as she glances over at him, as if she can hear the difference, but it quickly disappears when she turns to Kousuke again. "Geez, Kousuke, I was almost worried about you for a second!"

"Almost, huh?" Kousuke says wryly.

Chiaki sighs, plucking at the blue fuzz of his wristband, but neither of them notice.

* * *

She'd almost had him figured out.

But almost wasn't good enough.

* * *

**A/N:** If Makoto had gotten a single glimpse of his time tattoo at any point in their time together, the story would have unraveled much differently, I think. That I still receive reviews for this collection stuns and amazes me, particularly since I sometimes get the feeling that my first few pieces may have come off rather uninteresting. That said, I'm really moved that some of you have stuck it out this long (and 500+ reviews, you wonderful people!).

Thank you for reading. Feedback is always welcome.


	55. Don't Cry

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Girl who Leapt through Time._

x:_ fifty-five_

**Don't Cry**

"Auntie!" cried Makoto, brown eyes blazing in excitement. "Auntie, look at me!"

No response came. With a frown, Makoto dug her heels into the ground and pushed off on the swing. As she swung forward, she craned her head over the other kids, searching for her aunt.

Aunt Majo sat on a park bench on the opposite side of the playground. She appeared to be chatting with one of her co-workers.

"Auntie!" she tried again. Makoto's voice was smothered by the clamoring of other children running amok on the playground. Disappointed, Makoto decided not to call out again. Her aunt was a busy woman, always working at the museum—even on her days off. She was babysitting Makoto at the moment, since both of her parents were still at work even though Makoto had gotten out of school early. They weren't far from the museum. In fact, if she craned her head in another direction, she could catch a glimpse of the building from her spot on the swing.

Makoto pumped her stumpy, little legs, urging the swing higher. The blue sky seemed to leap down, teasingly, like a yo-yo, every time she ascended. Makoto laughed, sticking her arms out into the warm, summer air.

Suddenly, there was sharp pain at the back of her head. Her arms whipped back to the swing chains, tiny fingers clenching fitfully around solid metal. Makoto scraped the heels of her red shoes into the ground, wincing as every movement jerked the nerves on her skull. "_Owowowowowow_!" Wincing and whining, Makoto tried to tug her tangled brown hair out of the chains were it had gotten pinched. But pulling and tugging did nothing to help. It only hurt worse.

Makoto brought her clumsy fingers up toward the back of her head, but she couldn't reach up high enough on the chains to yank the chunk free. No one seemed to be paying her attention. None of the other kids bothered to help her, if any of them even noticed. Makoto peered desperately over at her aunt, who was now obscured by several parents playing with their children on the slides. "Auntie, help!" The plea fell on deaf ears.

With an aggravated growl, Makoto tugged her head again, but the pain was so fiery and acute that tears immediately sprang to her eyes. She couldn't cry. She _wouldn't_. Babies, like Miyuki, cried. Makoto was a big girl now and she wasn't going to cry over something stupid. She was ugly when she cried.

"It's going to hurt if you try yanking it out like that."

Makoto turned to see who it was, but wasn't able to. Her eyes were too watery, and her stupid _hair_ wouldn't let her.

"How'd you get yourself in this mess, huh?" came the voice again, teasing. She hated when adults teased her.

Makoto, forced to face forward, glowered at her lap. "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

He laughed, and the sound reminded her of a songbird, or one of her aunt's paintings, but she didn't know why. "Okay," he conceded, "okay, but I wouldn't consider myself a stranger. I'm just trying to help."

"Then, help!" she retorted with an imperious sniff, more to hide her runny nose than to seem bratty.

The stranger moved closer until he was standing right behind her. "Are you crying?"

"_No_!" she shouted, mortified.

"Don't cry," he said softly, sounding strangely heartbroken. "Don't cry."

"I'm _not_ crying!" she yelled at him.

"Okay, okay—relax." He sounded panicked as a couple of people looked over at the commotion she was making. "You're going to embarrass yourself."

"Go away, weirdo!"

"Hey!" He sounded offended. Then, he chuckled. "You sound just like—" He stopped. "Never mind. Let's untangle that hair."

Makoto tensed as his fingers made contact with her hair. He gently eased the long stubborn strands out from between the chain links. Makoto tried to turn again before he was finished, but ended up ripping out several tendrils. With a yelp, she faced forward, docile once more, to let him resume his ministrations.

"And there's the last one," he announced. Before she could turn to thank him—albeit unenthusiastically—he placed a hand on her shoulder, and leaned down. Makoto froze. "I bet you this kind of thing doesn't happen with short hair," he whispered.

Makoto grimaced, about to reply when the weight on her shoulder abruptly disappeared, the shadow on the ground disappearing with it. "Huh? HEY!"

"Makoto?" Aunt Majo waved from her post by the bench across the playground. "Makoto, it's time to go!"

Makoto dismounted from the swing and swiftly turned on her heel, but no one was there. She scanned the playground, but it was impossible to tell who might have helped her. Frowning, she ran out of the playground.

"Did you have fun?" asked her aunt the second she reached her side.

"Auntie, can you cut my hair? I want it short."

Aunt Majo blinked in surprise. "Why?"

"_Because_," said Makoto, tugging on her aunt's pencil skirt petulantly. As a kid, that was all the excuse she needed.

She never grew it out since.

* * *

"Hey, what was your name again?" Makoto asked, replacing her indoor shoes with her outdoor shoes.

He seemed perplexed. Flicking his eyes down the narrow walkway, he noticed all the other students switching out their shoes. It didn't take long for him to follow suit. "Mamiya, Chiaki," he repeated.

"Sorry," she said, although she really wasn't, "didn't catch it the first time in class. Sounded a little, you know, foreign."

"I'm not from here."

"Right, right," spouted Makoto. "Where did you say you were from?"

"Overseas."

She gave him a look. "That's really specific." Without warning, the doors opened with a bang as several students clambered in for after-school activities. A burst of gusty winter wind hurtled like a bullet down the hall after them. "Yikes! It's freezing out there!" Suppressing a shudder, Makoto pulled a sweater over on top of her school uniform.

A sharp pain in the back of her head caused to her stop mid-pull-over. "Ouch!" she hissed, arms half through the sleeves, head cocked at an awkward angle. "Damn button!" She stubbornly wiggled her head through the hole. Knotted strands of hair snapped off of the topmost button of her sweater.

"It's going to hurt if you yank it like that," he remarked.

The words gave her pause—or was it the tone? the voice? She felt like she'd heard it somewhere before, but she couldn't, for the life of her, place it.

Makoto ignored the split brown pieces that drifted to the floor as she successfully put her head and arms through. She frowned, scrutinizing him. "What'd you say?"

He shook his head. "Never mind."

Makoto's musing came to an end as Kousuke appeared at the end of the hall. "Hey, ready to go, Makoto?"

"Yeah." She turned to Chiaki. "That's Kousuke. He's in the same class, too. Want to grab something to eat with us?"

Chiaki averted his eyes, for the first time seeming shy as opposed to surly. "Maybe next time."

"Oh, alright then. See ya."

_It's going to hurt if..._

She pushed the niggling sense of familiarity aside. After all, they'd obviously never met before.

* * *

**A/N:** So I know I've been AWOL for months. Since my last update, I've received a number of messages and reviews, and I'd just like to say thanks and assure you all that I'm not, in fact, dead. I've been living life in the fast lane, recently, and it hasn't bothered to slow down. But I've been _itching_ to write for weeks! That spark of inspiration never took wing. Then, I went back and found some half-formed ideas in my folder and decided to just bang one out.

It's well past 3 am at the time I'm writing this, though I'll probably post this at some not-ungodly hour. (Eep, I hope it's decent.)

Thank you for reading! Feedback, as always, is greatly appreciated.


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